Immersed so deep
Questioning the way of the sheep
Sheep who conform to this reality
Without so much as a peep

They might begin to realize
Just what they're missing
If they saw the world through my eyes

I wish I could share this vision
With more than just words
This reality is derision
This mockery for the birds

Some may call it escape
Looking at the world through open eyes
But when your pupils begin to gape
You can see through the lies

So partake and open yourself
To a world of beauty and wonder

These are my trippin' bawls
I hope they make you ponder

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

When clocks strike twelve and trainings end
— lurk not, they say, in school at night.
Age-old stories tell of how there’re
things that throng in fluorescent light.

In toilets silence screeches loud,
for when school’s empty, they arise:
Ghosts of pregnant girls lie wailing,
with cleaner-uncle poltergeists.

For now I sit on chilling white,
resounding prayers in my mind;
my heart racing with dire wish
a friend of Casper’s I won’t find —

Then eeeeeeek!
Is that a door creaking?
Perhaps it stemmed from my own mind,
Hinges sing as they fly open!
Thou who entered, oh be my kind!

A thud thud thud as shoes traverse
across the glinting marble floor;
and louder,
louder as they get
much nearer to my sacred door!

THEN SILENCE

or so I wish!

But a loud knock takes my breath away.
The unlatched bolt lies there lazing
HOW’D I FORGET TO LOCK TODAY?

A hand thrusts in so hard and swift,
door’s open ‘fore I can react!
I’m facing now a girl my age,
She bawls at me with little tact —

Eyes bloodshot and tummy bloated,
“YOU DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YE?!”
I dash out of the girls’ toilet
before she tries to castrate me.

She cries late
                  every night
     Turns off all the
                           lights
         Sits in bed
bawls
             her eyes out
      in the dark
Cutting out pieces
      of her heart
No one can see
                          the scars
           of her sewing
back up her chest
       Soon she will be
             an empty shell
        Hopefully
                    putting her soul to rest
If her heart
                    is no longer there
It can't get broken,
              right?
If no one can see
                          the tears
Then she never cried,
                     right?

Inside the bearded man,
The crying baby lies
The disarming face is gone
The flowery flesh is worn
And nobody wants to rush in
To his peevish petulant cries
And wipe his bottom or eyes.

He's in a pitiful mess
But the middle-aged man
No matter how hard he tries
Cannot command the love
That came free with his innocence
He bawls in vain in his pain
Such comfort will never never come again.

TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.”
It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan.
If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars.
Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!).

We were going to relax - in Manhattan,
instead, keep those seat belts fastened.
Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?”
Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit. 

We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea.

The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding.

It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights.

We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar.
OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap.

Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’

Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest, a few days, in New Haven.
Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics?
.
.
dance club songs, for this one:
One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa
Lipstick by Kungs
Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
Levitating by Dua Lipa
.
.
slang…
café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe
Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black *****, lemon, and Bawls energy drink.
beautix = top drawer, rizz
No cap = no lie
fo-shizzle = for sure
fire = great, a standout
[E] = explicit

Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the **** of the Magazine Wall,
  (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
           ****, helmet and all?

He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
  (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
           Jail him and joy.

He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
  (Chorus) And religious reform,
           Hideous in form.

Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
  (Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
           Butter his horns!

(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
   on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!

Balbaccio, balbuccio!

We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-pox
   and china chambers
Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
Small wonder He'll Cheat E'erawan our local lads nicknamed him.
When Chimpden first took the floor
  (Chorus) With his bucketshop store
           Down Bargainweg, Lower.

So snug he was in his hotel premises sumptuous
But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery
And 'tis short till sheriff Clancy'll be winding up his unlimited
   company
With the bailiff's bom at the door,
  (Chorus) Bimbam at the door.
           Then he'll *** no more.

Sweet bad luck on the waves washed to our island
The ****** of that hammerfast viking
And Gall's curse on the day when Eblana bay
Saw his black and tan man-o'-war.
  (Chorus) Saw his man-o'-war
           On the harbour bar.

Where from? roars Poolbeg. Cookingha'pence, he bawls
   Donnez-moi scampitle, wick an wipin'fampiny
Fingal Mac Oscar Onesine Bargearse Boniface
Thok's min gammelhole Norveegickers moniker
Og as ay are at gammelhore Norveegickers cod.
  (Chorus) A Norwegian camel old cod.
           He is, begod.

Lift it, Hosty, lift it, ye devil, ye! up with the rann,
   the rhyming rann!

It was during some fresh water garden pumping
Or, according to the Nursing Mirror, while admiring the monkeys
That our heavyweight heathen Humpharey
Made bold a maid to woo
  (Chorus) Woohoo, what'll she doo!
           The general lost her maidenloo!

He ought to blush for himself, the old hayheaded philosopher,
For to go and shove himself that way on top of her.
Begob, he's the crux of the catalogue
Of our antediluvial zoo,
  (Chorus) Messrs Billing and Coo.
           Noah's larks, good as noo.

He was joulting by Wellinton's monument
Our rotorious hippopopotamuns
When some ****** let down the backtrap of the omnibus
And he caught his death of fusiliers,
  (Chorus) With his rent in his rears.
           Give him six years.

'Tis sore pity for his innocent poor children
But look out for his missus legitimate!
When that frew gets a grip of old Earwicker
Won't there be earwigs on the green?
  (Chorus) Big earwigs on the green,
           The largest ever you seen.

   Suffoclose! Shikespower! Seudodanto! Anonymoses!

Then we'll have a free trade Gael's band and mass meeting
For to sod him the brave son of Scandiknavery.
And we'll bury him down in Oxmanstown
Along with the devil and the Danes,
  (Chorus) With the deaf and dumb Danes,
           And all their remains.

And not all the king's men nor his horses
Will resurrect his corpus
For there's no true spell in Connacht or hell
  (bis) That's able to raise a Cain.

Rage and roar upon your thrones,
Love, loot and hate, be disparate,
But not for me are bawls and blows;
I’ll tend the hearth, the heart, the grate.
In the shadows I rest, my face a-glow –
Not plagued by fury as hot as fire,
Nor ambition, wrath, desire,
Nor revenge as cold as snow.
Quiet yet not dormant,
Docile though not all compliant,
You may scoff and scorn my choice
But I still hold the eternal fire –
My flame keeps Olympus alight,
I keep all safe throughout the night
And though I am not in your sight
You’ll always find me through your plight.
For I am Hestia,
First-born goddess,
The softest star.

It consists of this,
all of it and none
I found solace in that
which I could not hold
but only cherish as fond memoirs
of a terrible moment in time

Never full, never empty
it turned into an addiction
derogation of the unwise, with no premise
bawls and shrieks have no place here
this is silent lucidity capsized
hundreds of expressions explaining one thing
one thing that explains it all

Destination: lost
with no means to propel the self
into a promising new day,
pray tell, what will break down the wall
self loathing and misanthropy creates
alone in a crowd, here, but far away
none of it is that important anyway

The smile stealer, grin eater
mood killer, running short of edification
It's never alone; in bed with misery
the smallest things distress
the grandest of thoughts
wanting reprieve, searching escape
as if you could
die and stain pride?

No

Cowardice is lower than this
not worse, just pathetic
but please, ignore my terrible advocacy,
everything is half off today
I'm feeling generous.

Slow to the jump, quick on the fall.
Falls in love, and gives it his all.
All tore up, his anxiety grows tall.
Tall list of insecurities, he lives as a thrall.
Thrall to the past, and with the past he brawls.
Brawls till he can't, gives up and falls.
Falls to the ground, lifts up and crawls.
Crawls to his room, picks himself up on the wall.
Walls up the past, climbs in bed and bawls.
Bawls himself to sleep, wakes up feeling small.
Small town where he lives, time to get on the ball.
***** up his pain and throws it away.
Time to start over. It's a brand new day.

his own & this world's realities are like the fuzz in the States
they're ones to escape, which is a plan of attack
that, like a unit of ammo dispatched
to the bean of a **** autocrat dying physically damaged & sad
hits his deli̲ght-bankrupt brain; like Donald the dung piece, today
he feels bold, so maybe there'll be, like abundance of cake
["bald"]
fortune coming his way
["fortis fortuna adiuvat"/"fortune favors the bold"]
————————————————————————————————
this one's a schmuck thing to say
but this club reminds of Ukraine (what?)
he, like motorized cavalcades from the next-door empire, invades
its territory causing, like unaccommodating writer, a sla[ɛ]m
[Eminem & his "Unaccommodating" song]
as he shuts the door frame; obvi, sO̲me people may
find them bars offensive, like an armed aggression
so my apologies, I'm somewhat ashamed
mainstream house stuff is on play
a thought in his skull: "this is lame"
Michael S. straight after he turned around & stumbled on blamed
Toby F.; through the crowd he cuts like a blade
[the ending of the "Frame Toby" episode cold open from "The Office" series]
having hopped U̲p on the stage
as if it were a narcotic substance you've ta'en
he, so loud as if with his cullions in grave
nU̲t-wrenching pain, bawls: "THIS ****** *****!", like a brace
of thigh highs colored with stains of blood; yanderE̲[eɪ]
["*****"; "so[ɑ]cks"]
schoolgirl; disgruntled, he makes for the f#cking DJ
delivers a verbal punch in his face by the fo[ɑ]llowing phrase:
"boy, go house-sit with your confounded
boring house sh#t, just like a housewyf"
whereafter thrusts him away
ending the uproar with "ciao, drip!"
music-wise, it's gon' go hard as nuts in this place
as if a flock of ones who're deranged
["who're" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "whoor"]
swung by a club in the wake of a ****** **[ɑ]spital break (nuts in this place)
he puts on midtempo dark cyberpunky synthwave
Gesaffelsteinish mid-paced
type of music; that's what drives his crumpet insane
speaking of crumpets, he spots a buxomish babe
while nodding his ******* nut to this cray
music, he feels like a **** being aimed
at, for she stands with her sight, like one of a gun, fixed his way
————————————————————————————————
for a few secs, at each other they gaze
she's quite a fox with her vibrant locks
reminding of flame; somebody call a fire brigade
hourglass-shaped & rigged out in tight pa[ɛ]nts & a blouse
with a U̲-neck, like a fella without
*****, & leaving her waist a bit out
["******"]
on display; he makes his way to this frau
salutates her with "ciao"
she greets him with just the same, then he mouths
the following: "babe, you're way like a house
for lodging that's nowhere to be found
that is, in the deep of a labyrinth"
she's like: "what in the void's name's this about?"
he replies: "I'ma translate that one now"
"the way you look's amazing, ten out
of ten", like that "KleanColor" skin bro[ɑ]nzer
["a maze inn"; "Tan Out Of Tan"]
she makes a soft smile, then replies: "ain't you nice, pal
when you lay your thoughts out?"
"not being nice would be a crime
when you face a fine gal
like you", - he replies
"if so, rejecting the company of a guy so gracious would count"
as a crime too", - she replies
being a music-lover with such a need fO̲r it it's
stuff he cA̲[ɛ]n't live without
the guy asks the gI̲rl if she
fa[ɛ]ncies this sound
her reply is affirmative
she says she, mostly, faves underground
kinds of music; they vibe
to these tunes being pU̲t on, just like
that loony sh#twipe the whole antifa community'd like
to see end up ruined, just like
Aleppo or Mariupol; stop, I'd
like, before the main telling resumes, to rewind
a little: the newly-met vibe
to these hard-hitting beats put on; he finds
out, when asking her what drinkable fluid she'd like
to have, that she deems it uncool to imbibe (*****)
he replies: "to tell you the truth, so do I"
so if there's somebody to end up lit during this night
it is the moon in the sky
["some body"]
————————————————————————————————
soon after having their soft drinks taken, they bounce
like the name of the style
of music brought into this wO̲rld heaps
before chicks twerking
blew into the mainstream like "blaow!"
["hips"]
like a sick pervert that digs scourging
while engaged in a bout
of carnal fun, he's got a whip ordered
they wait for several mins for it
finally, the motorized conveyance comes out
like a deb girlie
[debutante]
he trails this fox like she's prey to hunt down
watching her proceed to[–]ward it
in a way like she's on a catwalk waving around
a rig splurgy
having hopped in it, to a lodging place they set out
the saucy look in her eyes
once his palm is put on her thigh
a kind of luminous sign–
–board reading: "absolutely alright
with going on a lewd spree tonight"

Your gaze, as brightest stars in Milky Way
Your touch, warmest than sun rays
Your Voice, conch shell rhythm
Afar, yet nearest than ones heart

Your Being, ones shelter in stumble and fall
Cuddled asleep in your womb from worldly bawls

Your helpful hands stretched miles to foes or friends
Subsiding desires, what say of your kindness lent

O' son of Adam! worthy of such swaggering pride in this mud vessel
For as warm as fire for cold friends
Pure as water for their thirst to quench

But then, arrogate; how they call you, agreeing
None but the One revealed this highest being

O' naif son of Adam!
Rewarding oneself with noble note?
As a pharaoh who bestows
Remember the pledge and know the burden bore upon

Think you can repay with what makes you whole?
With all owned fortune, spirit or perhaps your very soul

Behold;
For what you claim yours, is not even owned
To Him it belongs,
To Him it returns

A DOLL in the doll-maker's house
Looks at the cradle and bawls:
"That is an insult to us.'
But the oldest of all the dolls,
Who had seen, being kept for show,
Generations of his sort,
Out-screams the whole shelf:  'Although
There's not a man can report
Evil of this place,
The man and the woman bring
Hither, to our disgrace,
A noisy and filthy thing.'
Hearing him groan and stretch
The doll-maker's wife is aware
Her husband has heard the wretch,
And crouched by the arm of his chair,
She murmurs into his ear,
Head upon shoulder leant:
"My dear, my dear, O dear.
It was an accident.'

As the wind unwinds the surface
The Savanna nods to The Shepherd gently
yet every steps he took left deeply-rooted footprints

He carelessly steps on her wildflowers,
and while he rest, he'd pluck some of hers
deep down he knows he's in dead end

The Savanna couldn't help her curiosity,
so she asked where is he heading off
and why he tossed his compass halfway to the ground

On the spur of a moment, The Shepherd fainted
his throat choked; like he wasn't allowed to say a word
little did The Savanna knows he was cursed

"I am no use of you," said The Shepherd.
"I am cursed to walk on my path with me alone;
I am cursed to left my soul in every steps I took
I am cursed to get lost in the midst of unknown!"

The Savanna embraces him tenderly
'tho every time he bawls out and enraged
for countless time she failed but she's persistent

"Let me take care of you," insists The Savanna
"Until your broken compass works again;
until you know where you are heading towards
—until then, let me help you."

And just like that,
The Shepherd found within her
his long-time quest; his very own oasis in the desert

From the movement of bright water dancing what surprise pleasure there is flood and white
Water rafting gentle falling rain or the more memorizing gray mist by its draping cloak normal
Surroundings become mystical but for timeless enhancement to appear in water and light and
The smallest movement to the soul it is an entry way into beauty comfort and the perfect
Amount of dazzle a mere kiss from nature that embodies sanctuary a certain amount of
Disbelief but it is the boldest statement from awareness you can shift your body and soul along
This gilded avenue we didn’t even mention ice and its hold on the imagination it stands to
Reason when the earth is covered by three quarters of its surface by water then the two
Extremes that is evident in tears that can be sorrow or joy the practical reality is that even tears
Of sorrow are curative in their nature they are the only thing that is strong enough to engage
Pain and loneliness they give it crystal clearness a lucid endowment you are given the freedom
To seek and find the answer that will turn back even a tidal wave of grief if windows can be
Rendered magical by the presence of rain upon their surface much glory will be found when
You look out at the world with your eyes filled with tears the spirit has raised from great depths
Now it is free flowing suspended behind these eyes of blessedness the greatest earthly power
Exist the human mind distillation ability to capture wonder be amazed at the sight of a butterfly
Especially when it is only the briefest spectacle that follows on to give portent and complete
Knowledge of spring itself streams waterfalls a panorama that glistens that bulges and thrills
With all matter of life blossoms flowers that are never more intriguing when they have the cast
Of moisture on them fragrance is wafting in all directions of the earth’s domain the sight and
Sounds of a new born calf its fragile state it bawls for mother and the life she provides you are
The sum total of all this were you not created as the top masterpiece with a word or a smile
And Just the tilt of your head you are splashing generating emotional waves that all humans
Crave By sunlight and moonlight you are the power that banishes heartfelt hurts when you look
In the Mirror you’re the essence of true life a new field that is budding the crowning
Achievement of a Holy contract that is established in the earth for this reason happiness is
Yours to express and invest in each life you can give at this level and not be greatly rewarded
You were not made a slave but as a fount and a treasure of purist water too continuously
Provide climate control through you life will never be a desert but a garden for all to flourish
and reach their potential

I was there the day the sun
was a ****** embryo & you
finally awoke under sick blue
                                                mist.  

Do you recall when Nell’s femur
fractured  and she cried the way a cow
bawls  when it is realized the calf will be
                                  someone’s veal dinner.  

Do you think of these times
or has a lardy mealworm crawled within
your nasal cavity & inched into your brain
                                             to erase memories?

Gathering atop our 100 year old
dogwood, blackbirds beckon you daily
to return  to your home  of devastating
                                                              trauma.

I love you.
I love you to the moon and back with my whole anatomical heart.
It sill beats you for you , every time we spoon
and more and more every **** time we part.
You jumbled my thoughts
our midnight talks
make my anatomical heart beat for you.
I think about "I do"
and wonder if you do too
for me, this is no ideal.
With two A.M. calls
and unexpected bawls,
you can only hold me and love me once again.
Love me to the moon and back with your anatomical heart too.

Cliché is the glue of our bubblegum-flavored MTV culture,
Because we order language to go and with extra cheesy.
We pour words into televisions and radios,
And sent those waves to space.
We do this because the very vastness of our language
Is oozing from our ears like a runny nose,
And the torrents of tongues cannot seem
To penetrate the walls of the Jersey Shore.

Sometimes at night, Katie Couric weeps.
She bawls into the darkness when she realizes
That most of her viewers are waiting for her to shut up,
Like parents waiting for the baby to fall asleep,
Because there is *** to be had
And maybe Charlie Sheen will say something funny tonight.

We are tweeting away our TV-dinner monologues.
The cardinals miss our singing,
The way my “s” swishes against my “h,”
And the slightest stutter of my best friend,
Like a drum-solo-blue-jazz-soul-snare.

There is a river of modified nouns
This world has not had the privilege
To have run over their naked bodies.
Words that are chocolate-flavored like “cinnamon”
Curl up in your lap and scratch
The deepest part of your throat,
Where syntax has gone to hide away.
This river has been ****** by a thesaurus
That wants everything to be a synonym for “****.”

So I’ve got cliché stuck to my brain
Like gum beneath a classroom seat,
Like ******* that I can’t turn away from,
Disgusted though I may be,
Because everybody’s doing it.

** Xuan Huong English Translations by Michael R. Burch

** Xuan Huong (1772-1882) was a risqué Vietnamese poetess. Her verse, replete with nods, winks, ****** innuendo and a rich eroticism, was shocking to many readers of her day and will probably remain so to some of ours. Huong has been described as "the candid voice of a liberal female in a male-dominated society." Her output has been called "coy, often ***** lyrics." I would add "suggestive to graphic." More information about this provocative poet follows these modern English translations of her poems.

Ốc Nhồi  ("The Snail")
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My parents produced a snail,
Night and day it slithers through slimy grass.
If you love me, remove my shell,
But please don't jiggle my little hole!

The Breadfruit or Jackfruit
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My body's like a breadfruit ripening on a tree:
My skin coarse, my pulp thick.
My lord, if you want me, pierce me with your stick,
But please don't squeeze or the sap will sully your fingers!

Bánh trôi nước ("Floating Sweet Dumpling")
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My powdered body is white and round.
Now I bob. Now I sink.
The hand that kneads me may be rough,
But my heart at the center remains untouched.

The Cake That Drifts In Water
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I was born virginal and beautiful,
Yet my life's been full of struggles.
My fate rests entirely in the hands of the elites.
Yet still I shall keep my heart pure.

Ode to a Paper Fan
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

One ring receptive enough for any rod,
Coyly alluring since ancient times…
Your employment is to cool down sweating heroes,
To cover gentlemen’s heads whenever it rains.
Behind the bed-curtain, let’s tenderly ask him:
Panting like a dog in heat, are you satisfied?

***** You!
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

***** the rule that makes you share a man!
You slave like maids but without pay.

Unplanned Pregnancy
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My yielding resulted in this chaos;
Who can understand my anguish? …
However, this love-load I’ll soon be lugging,
Despite the world’s condemnation
(To have child, without a husband)
Is a an exceptional feat!

The Unfortunate Plight of Women
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hey sisters, do you know?
The baby bawls at your breast
While your husband slides onto your stomach.
Both demanding your attention,
Both endlessly tugging.
All must be put in order.
“Hurry up with the flowers!”
Such are the demands of husbands and children.
Hey sisters, do you know?

Questions for the Moon
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How many eons have you been there,
Endlessly transposing from slender to pregnant? …
Why do you orbit, aloof, the loneliness of night,
yet blush — so pale! — when seen by the sun?
Awake, long past midnight, whom do you seek?
Why so enchanted with hills, rivers and dales?

At the Chinese General's Tomb
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I see it there — looming, alone —
the General's tomb, so impressive!
But if I could be reborn, become a man,
with such advantages, couldn't I do better?

Advice to a Lamenting Widow
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Why are you wailing, boo-hoo-ing, mourning a man?
Can it sister! Desist! Don't shame yourself!
O my ear sister, I should have warned you:
Don't eat meat, if it makes you ***** blood!

Wasps
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Where and why are you wandering, foolish wasps?
Come, your big sister will teach you to compose!
Silly baby wasps suckle from rotting stamens;
***** ewes **** fences when there’s freedom in the gaps.

Lament for Hô Xuân Huong
by Nguyen Emperor Thieu Tri's brother
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Here the lake overflows with lotuses;
Allow the flower girls to gather some,
While not trampling Hô Xuân Huong's grave!
For in the Golden Springs beyond,
She still anguishes over lost love.
Her lipstick desiccate, her rouge faded, her tomb unattended,
Xuân Huong is gone…

Most of Huong's poems were written in Nôm script, a complex Vietnamese adaptation of Chinese characters employed from the 15th to 19th centuries. Through her Nôm poems, Huong helped elevate the status of Vietnamese poetry. A century later, she was called "the Queen of Nôm poetry" by Xuan Dieu, one of Vietnam’s greatest poets.

Huong was more than a mere penner of ****** verse; she was an "outspoken proto-feminist: an irreverent wild card bringing a new voice to Vietnamese poetry while marking out a bolder trail for what it means to be a woman."

"** Xuan Huong is an improbable figure in Vietnamese literature. Vietnamese historians are virtually unanimous in acclaiming her as the 'most special ' poetry writer who ever lived in Vietnam. … She wrote poetry which, for all its playfulness, may have been the darkest assault upon Confucian ethics ever delivered by a literate scholar of a classical East Asian society. Most modern Vietnamese writers agree that she often went too far, to the point where her contemporaries regarded her as a 'monster ' whose influence should be obliterated. — Alexander Woodside, Vietnam and the Chinese Model

Confucian ethics decreed that a female should obey: first her father, then her husband, then her son after her husband’s death.

Huong was apparently born in the Quynh Luu district of the north-central province of Nghe An. Xuan Huong means "Spring Fragrance," "Spring Essence," or "Scent of Springtime." Her father, a scholar named ** Phi Dien, died young. Her mother remarried, as a concubine. Huong grew up near Thang Long (modern Ha Noi), in a male-dominated society in which polygamy was permitted and men were more privileged than women. Huong may or may not have been a concubine herself. Very little is known with any certainty about her life.

In 1962, Nguyễn Đức Bính admitted, "I don't know anything about the poetess Hồ Xuân Hương and other people don't know any more than I do." And yet legends do take on lives of their own!

Keywords/Tags: ** Xuan Huong, Vietnamese, English translations, snail, grass, shell, hole, breadfruit, jackfruit, tree, skin, hands, sap, stain, dumpling, body, powder, powdered, sink, bob, swim, pond, heart, center, red, nom script, spring fragrance, spring essence, concubine

LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 7


“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.

When night shimmers away and dawn appears,
Awakening all living things from slumber,
The sun is welcomed by all with cheers
As its heat signifies everything warm and dear.

Flowers arise in glory and bloom,
While butterflies carry on their endless pollination.
The first sign of day sweeps away all gloom,
And the sun is nicknamed,” god’s greatest creation”

And birds spread their wings and soar the skies,
Aiming to reach for the sun,
While the hapless baby bawls and cries,
And while the labourer butters his bun.

When the sun shines upon them,
All living things know,
That everything happy and new is brought about by the bright yellow gem,
And hence with joy does their life glow.

Because it’s the beginning of a brand new day,
Fresh, unique, and different from the last,
Fun and fulfilling in every way,
To help forget history and the past.

And so, also, as I look at the world around me,
Taking in the view,
Whatever I see,
Is not what I saw yesterday, but something new.

And as the bees store up their honey,
And businessmen store up their money,

My heart, warmed by the sun does sing
Gleefully welcoming a brand new day that’s just beginning…

From the movement of bright water dancing what surprise pleasure there is flood and white
Water rafting gentle falling rain or the more memorizing gray mist by its draping cloak normal
Surroundings become mystical but for timeless enhancement to appear in water and light and
The smallest movement to the soul it is an entry way into beauty comfort and the perfect
Amount of dazzle a mere kiss from nature that embodies sanctuary a certain amount of
Disbelief but it is the boldest statement from awareness you can shift your body and soul along
This gilded avenue we didn’t even mention ice and its hold on the imagination it stands to
Reason when the earth is covered by three quarters of its surface by water then the two
Extremes that is evident in tears that can be sorrow or joy the practical reality is that even tears
Of sorrow are curative in their nature they are the only thing that is strong enough to engage
Pain and loneliness they give it crystal clearness a lucid endowment you are given the freedom
To seek and find the answer that will turn back even a tidal wave of grief if windows can be
Rendered magical by the presence of rain upon their surface much glory will be found when
You look out at the world with your eyes filled with tears the spirit has raised from great depths
Now it is free flowing suspended behind these eyes of blessedness the greatest earthly power
Exist the human mind distillation ability to capture wonder be amazed at the sight of a butterfly
Especially when it is only the briefest spectacle that follows on to give portent and complete
Knowledge of spring itself streams waterfalls a panorama that glistens that bulges and thrills
With all matter of life blossoms flowers that are never more intriguing when they have the cast
Of moisture on them fragrance is wafting in all directions of the earth’s domain the sight and
Sounds of a new born calf its fragile state it bawls for mother and the life she provides you are
The sum total of all this were you not created as the top masterpiece with a word or a smile
And Just the tilt of your head you are splashing generating emotional waves that all humans
Crave By sunlight and moonlight you are the power that banishes heartfelt hurts when you look
In the Mirror you’re the essence of true life a new field that is budding the crowning
Achievement of a Holy contract that is established in the earth for this reason happiness is
Yours to express and invest in each life you can give at this level and not be greatly rewarded
You were not made a slave but as a fount and a treasure of purist water too continuously
Provide climate control through you life will never be a desert but a garden for all to flourish
and reach their potential

Sick people sit sickly
on oaken benches
in a clinic with clean floors
and modern gadgets
for vetting clients
Little boy of three or four
bawls an unusual request:
he screams for an injection
where he's softest
and for the briefest of moments
Sick people suspend their agony
forget their fear and pain
and marvel at the boy's craving
for a needle that is terror
to most toddlers

The bellows of your breathing
beating back the baffling barrier
between bare-faced beloved beauties.
The backward bedlam of your benevolent
heart besieges the bold bandit
that bawls brazenly in my blood.

I've seen you war
Your big bawls and short "ahems!"
Fear was your greatest weapon
With it you caused much mayhem
You killed the conscience
You ***** the soul
On these streets i see dead people
You got them all

I've seen you war
Sleek, raw, enslaving clicks
Fear the bullet, media guns
How you've mastered your trigger - pulling tricks
"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The bullets rain
Facebook. Twitter. Aljazeera - The Raid
The lies you fed us
"But we was afraid....."
And lonely too

We were born to die alone in the dark
A dissected corpse, a desiccated heart
Loose limbs tightened with rigor mortis
Broken bones and emptied bawls  
Becoming a morticians doll
To be posed and paraded before
Our loved ones

Frost evening comes, I must go out,
Half scared to brave the bitter
But nature calls, one barks, one bawls,
Two dogs go out together.

Four padding paws, eight furry feet,
However you would call them,
The wind kicks up, their pace increase
Towards warm garage doors open.

I wish, like them, my coat was fur,
To keep me warm in snowtimes
But soon enough the seasons turn
We’ll romp and play in sunshine!

Silly, silly tree they say.
Tree grow, tree tall, branches flow, branches fall, wind blows, wind sprawls.
Tree cries, tree bawls, branches fly, wind enthralled, tree leans, tree sways, waiting to snap, atmosphere hectic, chaotic, structure and order eroding.
Soon the tree will cease to reach beyond the horizon.
Yet onlookers look on, all they see is a stubborn tree that can never be broken.
But they can't see wind.

School over
Judith began work
in town
in some grocery store

filling shelves
talking to customers
sitting on the checkout
and you went

saw her there once
busy
clothed
in the company’s

uniform
she was filling up holes
on the shelves
what are you doing here?

she said
you said you had a day off
from the petrol station
where you worked

out of town
that you wanted
to see her
how about tonight?

you asked
I can’t tonight
I’m working late
and I’m so tired

when I get home
what about tomorrow?
she said
I can’t

you said
I work until 8
she continued
filling the shelves

you looked about the store
taking in
the closed in feel
like being trapped

she looked about her
can’t talk for long
in case the manager
comes and bawls me out

she said
like being at school
you said
worse

she said
you looked at her
standing there
the uniform

the captivity of being
her eyes being fed
labels and prices
and contents of packets

her hands busy
the fingers moving
her cheeks flushed
her lips slightly pursed

as if wanting to kiss
but dare not
remember the first kiss we had?
you asked

yes
she said
pausing her work
gazing at you

Christmas while singing carols
with the choir
out in the evening air
no one looking

not seeming to care
she said
you just 14
me a still 13

going on 14
yes it had been like that
you recalled
and from the first time

you saw her
her eyes leapt out
at you and your heart
thumped inside

your chest
like some mad thing
wanting to get out
but that was then

you thought
watching her work
the school days over
the free time less

she in town working
all hours
you out of town
working the gas station

(you liked
the Americanization
of the term) till late
she busy

looking over her shoulder
time running out
love leaking away
she worried about

the manager seeing
you wanting to stay
but then
some store supervisor came

and moved on
to some other chore
and she waved
and you waved back

things weren’t
the same
the love not
as it was before.

She can fake a smile,
just to suit your style.
She tried to be strong, she tried,
but she's still fragile in the inside.

She's hurt, broken,
but all of her pain remained unspoken.
All of her friends say that she's okay,
but they didn't know it's just a display, cause her life is totally gray.

She's crying daily at midnight
Her red eyes covered with makeup at daylight.
She don't want anyone to see,
cause everyone knows that she's bubbly.

Her mask hides it all,
all her pains, all her bawls.
She wants to go away,
but pain haunts her day by day

She's smiling to hide millions of tears,
She's laughing to get to your atmosphere.
She has a breaking heart,
She's falling apart
look at her closely
She's not the girl you really see.

She seems cheery at the table, husband's arm around her
Swaddled in the structure of his family home
Joining in the prayers, helping light each candle
New year strikes and she returns the smiles
Emptiness tucked in the corners where they cannot see

Yet once everyone's rushed to bed
- Pedar's no longer young, and his mother worries -
She cannot help but return to the table alone
Her smile brighter, wider, twisting into a grimace
She cradles the Seeb to her chest and bawls without words

For the son she never met, the hand she never held
The way her mother-in-law joked about grand-kids
And her husband couldn't meet her eyes
For the sense of failure she knows she should not feel
For the prayers where she hoped for fertility and health

Once more, in private, in whispered sobs she begs
The vinegar for patience, the garlic to protect
The Senjed and the Sumac for her love to bear fruit
The sprouts for a rebirth to shed the guilt of death.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she climbs the stairs
Returning to her place in her husband's arms.

A young girl sits alone, scrunched in a corner of her room. She

Bawls her eyes out as tears fall onto her little blue dress.

Crying has become somewhat normal for her now.

Days like these, she tries to shut out the scenes of her father's raging

Eyes, dark and cold as he comes to attack her once again. For years, her

Father has been doing this to her. The worst thing is that she can't do anything about it.

Growing up without her mother to protect her, she doesn't see the point in living anymore.

Hatred fills her father's eyes as he looks her over.

In an instant, his fist connects with her tear-stained face, cheeks aching from the pain of his

Jolting actions. She holds her cheek as it pulsates under her fingertips. Her father's

Knuckles are ****** and bruised from impact, but he just shruggs it off as if it's nothing.

Looking around the room helplessly, the girl clasps onto her locket, dangling around her neck.

Mommy, she whispers, why aren't you here? Why can't you save me from Daddy?

Now is when the tears come flooding back, pouring down her face. If

Only she could run away. If only someone would notice the bruises that cover her

Pale skin. Why can't they see it?

Questions race through her mind: Why me? Who will save me? She

Realizes she doesn't know the answer to either of them. She doesn't know what else to do but

Sit in that corner, curled in a fetal position on the hardwood floor.

Time passes by before her eyes, each and every day.

Under her, she hears her father's footsteps inching closer and closer. At first they're soft,

Very, very soft. Almost as quiet as a whisper. Then, they increase speed, coming forth.

When he suddenly approaches, a smirk plays on his lips. She plays with the small

Xylophone perched by her frail legs, hoping the sound will drown out her father's.

You can only pray, a voice whispers in her ear. She focuses on that voice,

Zoning out the voices of terror inside her head.

In spring morning haze,
out of a red brick council house
window a bothered standing hawk
borrows wide eyed Wonder from a radged lad who reaches upwards
with pudgy hands to grasp
her silver underside and blue head.

Wonder bawls as it arcs in her claws
over grassed over pit heaps of Finished
Work and Help's call centre natter
to a high perch in **** racked ruins of an Old Hall.

Wonder refuses warm carcasses
of mice and voles,
desperate feathered mam returns
with scavenged chips, naan bread and pizza.

In noon summer shimmer
she pushes Wonder to fly,
but it falls out the cup,
grasps stone wall in its drop.

Soon, a cuckoo, Wonder heaves
the other nippers, fat Loneliness and scrawny Grief, or is it scrawny Loneliness
and fat Grief, out their home,
into an autumn mid afternoon
of burnished fallen leaves,

or, bored at mam's twitter
Wonder cannot garner,
breaks its fellow fledglings bones,
ragged Hunger and blistered Wishes,
or is it ragged Wishes and blistered Hunger.

Soon too big for home,
Wonder falls to earth,
and snaps its spine.

Kestrel mam covers Wonder's face
with her wing in winter night
gust, then abandons it
to foxfood and worms.