"beijing" poems
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.
Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.
America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Outside of a bar in a North Carolina strip mall, stone cold sober because I am scared to use my fake, I feel drunk as you sit next to me. Perhaps I am. I'd have to be to think maybe, maybe, maybe, when I know, I know, I know.
Your hand brushes against mine, and you're saying the most beautiful words I've ever heard, and the fire in my heart spreads up, down, left, right. But it cannot spread just four inches outside of my body. It cannot set you on fire, too.
We listen to each other and hear two very different things. You are birdsong outside of my window that I am eager to hear; I am traffic outside of your window you've learned to tune out at bedtime.
If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, then Beijing is my insides and bicycles are your name, because it is written on my insides nine million times. But there are no bicycles on Antarctica. There is no use for them there, just as there's no use for my name to be perched on a straight girl's ribs.
You tell me my weird hobby of listening to French rap music is awesome, that it's so cool that I'm teaching myself three languages, and that you want to be me when you grow up - I laugh, because you're several years older than me. Selfishly I catch every droplet of your praise. I ruminate on it for hours, for days. It means more to me than it should.
My name sounds like a compliment from your mouth. I try not to say yours too often, so you don't grow tired of me being around. If I can't set your insides on fire, I want you to want to be my friend. Even that feels like I ask for too much.
In every scene, I see you in the foreground of the narrative. For me, it would be on honor to be one of your background characters. Narratives are richer with them anyway.
I look at you and you are the Harry Potter movie marathon I wait months for. For you, I am the 2 am infomercial you fell asleep to. But I don't mind half as much as I should. Even white noise has its place in someone's life.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
Superheroes inspire us all,
superheroes make us marvel.
Superheroes are adored
from Beijing to Washington D.C.
But superheroes don't wear capes,
they wear a '96 Olympic shirt
and loose-fitting pants
you would never catch me in.
They don't have x-ray vision,
they've worn glasses
for as long as you remember.
They cannot fly,
and yet they seem larger than life.
They never seem to lie,
and they still say "I love you"
in the exact same way
almost sixty years after they bound it to eternity.
They don't have super-strength,
but they are your super strength
and they lift you up
until you can do it on your own.
They seem invincible,
but life has a way of reminding you
that even Superman has Kryptonite.
They are stubbornly steady
even when the bill of health
isn't clean.
Just as they are your strength,
you feel your aching mortality
when you find out
even superheroes get cancer.
Yet somehow,
after their greatest battle is fought,
there they are in all that remains
spreading an unyielding light
upon whoever sees them soaring by.
We wear an "S", a bat,
or even a spider
to pretend that we are our heroes
and emulate their image;
but I won't wear that old shirt,
or those terrible, worn-in jeans.
Instead,
I'll harness that unbreakable spirit,
and maybe one day
I'll be a superhero too.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Profile:
Yuwen Chengdu is the son of Yuwen Huaji, who was a general of the Sui dynasty. He is a warrior of Sui, only secondary to Li Yuanba, who is naturally super powerful. As recorded, he was as tall as ten feet with strong waist and body. In the appearance of golden face, long beard and thick eyebrow, he often hold a weapon as heavy as 350 pounds.
Introduction of ****** makeup:
****** makeup, or Lian Pu, refers to ****** designs for Jing and Chou roles. It originated from daily life experience, describing such changes of expression as white for fear, red for shyness, dark for suntan, and sallow for illness. Most ****** designs attach great importance to the eyes. The ****** designs for the Jing roles are made by painting, powdering and coloring in the basic forms of Zheng Lian (keeping the basic face pattern), San Kuai Wa Lian (three-section face) and Sui Lian (fragmentary face). These types are widely used to represent generals, officials, heroes, gods and ghosts. The Chou actors can be recognized by the patch of white in various shapes painted around the eyes and nose. Sometimes these patches are outlined in black, hence the term Xiao Hua Lian (partly painted face). The Chou roles fall into the following two categories: Wen Chou and Wu Chou.
Features:
****** makeup bears three main characteristics. Firstly, it is the unity and contradiction of beauty and ugliness. Secondly, it is closely related to the personality of the characters. Lastly, the patterns are stylized.
Beijing opera is one of the most popular drama widely welcomed and loved, no matter home and abroad. It is now acknowledged as a sign of Chinese traditional culture. The photos of ****** mask can be found on large buildings, product packages, various porcelains and clothes. It has gone beyond the stage, from which we can see the deep influence of ****** makeup. More and more foreigners have interest in it and begin to explore the secret of ****** makeup.
http://www.toywill.com
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
Like a lioness, you fought your house to keep
And swift as deer, you ran ahead of time
Fearing neither the Western rifles nor barriers of the African culture
Setting your eyes on victory, you left behind the cooking role
Refusing to be betrayed by coward men leaders
Angered by colonial disrespect and maltreatment,
Your love for Asanteland and pride was greater than gender
The brave feminist of Africa, whose fights preceded Beijing
Yaa Asantewaa, the shoes you left behind are too big to fill
But like you, we'd dare, our nation to defend
And our people we'd love enough to die for.
Yaa Asantewaa, like you we will step to fight, though without guns
Our brains, hearts and skills the point would prove, that we're descendants of thine
Gone with your body but in us, your nature lives on
We'd fight beyond Seychelles and return our land to rule.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
I have trouble at high altitudes
and I can't run more than a few steps without tiring
I'm a dancer but I gasp for air after
every performance
and my mouth tastes of pennies
I will never climb Mt. Everest
or smoke a single cigarette
I will not live in Beijing or own a cat
or be a deep sea diver
the best thing
they will ever do for me
is whisper your name
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
Bound for lands far in the East
Never have our hands touched
Our eyes barely knew each other
Only a couple of us knew another's name
Fewer recognized our voices
In its Land of Power
As we wandered the grounds
Of a city hoping to earn the winter 5 Rings
We knew joy
We knew laughter
We knew beauty
Unlike what our home lands held
But in our final hours in the city of Beijing
A poison seeped into our morning feast
Which quickly took its toll
A few thousand feet in the Air
As we fell into the city of Western Peace
Our plans became shattered
Few of us barely survived
As our own bodies lost control
We were at the mercy of our own insides
Somehow the two state namesakes were the Worst
Taken to the hospital
If it were not for the group mothers and guides
We would have been among the dead
We saw rolled in front of us
As our medicine was entering our blood
Through needles in our hands
In the midst of what we've come to call
The Xi'an Incident
I saw a glimmer of a rare soul
One full of kindness
Intelligence
And freedom
A type of rare Golden Soul I've come to admire
That lied within the body of the other state
My actions may have been interpreted as
The essence of the White Snake
On some level, maybe it was
But in truth
My gift from Shanghai
To whisper an appropriate goodbye
Was to thank her for pushing me along when times were rough
I am thankful for all that were with me on that trip
And I do hope to see her, and everyone again.
Like I told her in a note I left,
Maybe Hoopa will help make sure
We meet again
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
They bribed me with promises of Audis and poverty reduction.
A six-figure salary, insurance, and free weekends.
They lured me with Prada bags, Chanel Shades and scarves by Hermes.
Vacations in Nice, transits in Paris, and business trips to Beijing.
They said I could meet the Dalai Lama, Bill Gates and the Queen of England,
have wine with Sarkozy, break bread with Al Gore, and kiss Prince William.
They dangled real men, real love and post-marital affairs in front of me
and gave me dreams of seven husbands and no divorces.
They convinced me to grow up and walk across the stage,
and their promises made me smile as I crossed over to the other side.
Today, I lay in my hammock wishing they’d promised me a job as well.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
I sat upon the soft detailed carpet
we rose into the air
out of the window
seeing the world
New York, Rome, Greece, Paris, London, Tibet, Beijing,
Budapest, Oslo, Munich, India, African plains, Jerusalem, West Bank, etc
What was the best is the people and the culture
how different each one is but yet wanting the same thing
riding the magic carpet made me think about how everyone
in the world
could work together
to make peace
but there is still those internal
disagreements
peace between enemies
hurts further
In real life I was my imagination
and the carpet was my dream
the future is my hope
Apr 23, 2010
Apr 23, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
I look out the window, I walk in the street
I look around at this place, and I feel complete
I walk to the forest, to the sound of birdsong
This is the place I truly belong
I have seen so many of the world's greatest sights
But I belong here, it's my place by rights
I've seen much of the world, from Beijing to Rome
But here's the only place that I'd call my home
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
where did you go
what did you do
where did you wake up
I went everywhere I could
I am trying to escape
can I escape
been looking for my mind since the pixies asked me to
I did everything I could
to escape myself
over oceans to London
over arctic to Beijing
over prairie and rocks to Durango
traveling looking for myself in everything else
instead of letting go
can't I escape?
I go to work here there and everywhere
What can I get for you guys today
What kind of massage would you like today
Where do you want me to bring this artwork today
Where is my guard post today
can I never get away?
All these thoughts and all these thots
I woke up and ran out of the filthy philly basement on acid molly and nitrous running from bats flying from the speakers
out the house
I crash then stand and smile at police lights and friends drive home from the party
I stand smiling holding her and pray they make it home with all these
bats
I woke up here there and everywhere
Ice bag on my testicles
I awake from my morning bag
to a scared smiling face
I awake with black vision
heart nigh exploding
to crying terrified girlfriends
I awake on my steering wheel
from my weekly drive and cop
to nobody but myself
In bae's comforting arms
In the everlasting eternity my father still believes in
I awaken
I found myself
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
In a misguided attempt to escape you
I fled to Nietzsche.
Weak
Inconstant
They are cats and birds
At best, cows,
he mocked.
I don't know about that
But I've never stolen glances at a cow
And felt my heart turn to ash
At the gentle devastation of its beauty
While praying that the mild curry in my mouth
Somehow shrivel up my tongue
And singe off the unspoken entreaties simmering within.
(And my affection for cows
Extends only to veal cutlets)
Today
Nietzsche and curry failed me
Tonight
It'll be the familiar embrace of alcohol
Until you fly back to Beijing.
After which
Are other substances and their derivatives
To deal with the fallout
Your transient smile
Wrought on my worn soul.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
..
girls talk with God and God talks with girls
girls in silk stockings, studded leather and pearls
girls between jobs and girls between boys
girls all grown up and girls from hanoi
girls for all seasons and girls for the spring
girls for the winter and girls from beijing
girls coming first and girls coming last
girls from the future and girls from the past
girls on film and girls on waterskis
girls on one leg and girls named louise
girls who pretend and girls who must fake it
girls who steal and girls who just take it
girls in magazines and girls in books
girls in between and girls' fully cooked
girls fast and girls slow
girls high and girls low
girls in ivory towers and girls on the street
girls on their backs and girls on their feet
girls who remember and girls who forget
girls who have found jesus and girls who haven't yet
girls who own and girls who rent
girls on full throttle and girls who are spent
girls running and girls walking
girls biking and girls talking
girls who like girls and girls who like men
girls who prefer to be left alone and girls without friends
girls who write prose and girls who write verse
girls who are extremely,exactingly,not to mention incredibly,over the top verbose and girls terse
girls on vacation and girls on the job
girls who swim laps and girls who....bob
girls who like basquiat and girls who like haring
girls who like warhol and girls who like sharing
girls in wet raincoats and girls in full drag
girls playing drums and girls playing tag
girls who john cale and girls who lou reed
girls who plant bulbs and girls plant seeds
girls who don't and girls who do
girls that are nice and girls that are true
girls from the bottom and girls from the top
girls who keep writing and girls who know when
to stop
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Welcome,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm preaching a lesson,
And the merest mention,
Might cause social tension.
We live in an age of,
New things, super computing,
Mood rings, school shootings,
Fast Commuting, Mass Polluting
If you've got a question,
You should try and ask it,
Try and draw attention to,
Oceans full of grime and plastic.
Drastic measures are needed,
Why can't they see it?
We poison the earth,
And then try to seed it.
You might choke from the smoke,
Everyday Beijing breathing,
Our enemy is cloaked,
But free eyes see him.
Squeezing the last drops,
From the planet won't work because
Before the last's tree's chopped,
We have to plant with love.
Now who are these men,
With the Greatest greed?
Depriving people with a pen,
Of their basic needs.
The proceeds of their misdeeds,
Flow back to the system,
The corporate creed,
Profits off human divisions.
Listen by this time,
We've all had enough of it,
The mind control message,
Still tells me, "I'm loving it!'
Our generation is facing
Annihilation in our age
But the politicians on stage
Fight about the minimum wage.
Debate over free-speech,
Is finished we won it,
We won't get arrested and beat,
This isn't a G-8 summit.
Don't sell your life to the Company,
For a car and a home,
Claim your right to be a somebody,
Your life is your own.
I find it sad and pathetic,
People are attracted magnetically,
Or genetically to create,
Something we can't see.
A father in threes,
Behaving apologetically
and ethically correctly,
Directly see the universe's apathy.
People always have faith,
Governments will save us,
But at a suitable date,
won't hesitate to invade us.
Everybody's cynical,
About the media.
Remaining uncritical,
Of internet encyclopedias.
Obedience Blind,
Is worth less than nothing.
Read, think, search, find,
Catch the fake world bluffing.
There is a solution,
You can break their control,
You heart starts the revolution,
Save your soul.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 5:01 PM UTC
"O GOD ! only hand--- only leg
bleeding, hanging to the chopped body --o god !?!"
enough ! to discharge the debt of the soil.
"o god!
these little babies who are supposed to be the metaphor of passion,
are forced to be the product of flesh trade !
these tender hands , supposed to paint the alphabets
are made to clean the riffles !
o god !
they are eating mud--
they are drinking the ***** of animals...."
yes! the survival is important
to break the shackles of this soil.
"O GOD ! O GOD ! O GOD ! O G>>"
no !. no!. sympathy? charity ? i am not the beggar !
do not come on the wings of eagle holding the dove.
if you have a human soul..
demand those who are shedding crocodile tears.
i demand the answer , not the bread of consolation.
do the sons of my soil robbed these big-brothers at any time?
tell them not to declare the renegades as the protectors of my land.
**** **** ***** **** **** **** ****
tigris and euphrates, ganga and godavari
amazan, dandakaranya
somalia, rhodesia---- red with blood
santiyago, madrid, -- echoing
tahir square, beijing, brasilia... burning--
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
i may be falling down-- but i will rise ...
o big brother... you are not god
you can declare yourself as jesus
i am the child of spartucus
"o god ! are you a terrorist? are you a revolutionary?"
ha ha ha--- let it be.
now , the deserts having oil in lap
the forests having minerals in heart
the voices demanding the natural justice
are these the shelters of terrorists.. revolutionaries ?
let it be!
i am a revolutionary........
to discharge the debt of my soil !!
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Who’s to say how
He might come back for a second
inhumanely heaped-up helping,
if we grant that immensity
of our assumption He did come
kingly first into this inside-
out size from a do-you-miss-me-
yet’s mirthfully mythical realm
I have seen Him
lurking in a particle-board fine
finish on the thin outer membranes
of our estranged and better faces;
He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent,
but far too theoretical
for our broadly practical, turned-
away gazes to rediscover
There He is now
rising in the favela’s gap-
toothed grins with fabulously naughty
corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists
using cur jests his ***** charges
imagine as flightless quarrels
grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle
were they over-stuffed on golden grain
And there again
on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered
conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts
with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps
of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid
as dainty fingers crawl in toward
a gelatinous glob still clinging
to the powerful pretense it’s meat
And there once more,
conceding oms, He restless flickers
at the margins of blocky beige
Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks
circumnavigate the darkling
smooth patches and spit-spark a few
conscious drips to squiggle out from
the babble of noxious red seas
Emerged, this welp
won’t toddle off to dribble-stain
the dressy linens of a made-up
nanny’s well-mannered and ornate
evil; it will curl up instead,
a swaddled yawn with no yearn to
suckle under His real mother’s
gaping wide and grungy bloused best
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC
I returned from three days of golf
At Lake Orion, with a philosophical man.
A PhD talked the ear off me,
And spoke so deeply on the meanings
Of life as we approached the green.
Across the fence in a sawgrass meadow
I saw a doe grazing in spite of us.
I don't remember much of his diatribe
But the ball and the doe stuck.
He continued on the fallacy of memory,
Asking me to name the cities of the Olympics:
Mexico, Rome, Beijing, Montreal,
I think I was able to name them all;
But the ****** pup swimming
Beneath the walkway
Dragging a branch underwater
Cleared the air,
Like a thump on my chest,
Took my breath away,
And stopped my ear.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
Leong dreamt of meeting Jesus,
at the Koffee coffee shop.
It was early and not too busy,
so they had a chance to talk.
He was well dressed and looked quite nordic,
which was a surprise to her at first.
“Because we all know he was born in China
and Beijing the city of his birth”
At first, he kept it casual,
he talked a lot about his dad,
but he began to be rather judgey,
as some religious people can.
When he asked her for her digits,
she was put off by his entitled vibe.
In the end he got fake-numbered.
“It was a lowkey way to decline,
and both pacify the “boss’” son,
and keep him on her side.”
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 3:50 PM UTC
Aqua, bright fresh water
we oft get in the Malaysian Airlines
but not in the MH 370
where art Thou?
where are you all now?
when people and media around the world
bow in your case somehow
still hope you are all alive
i knew that you made that one big dive
right to the bottom of the ocean
all those inspectors are still saying
we can hear your phones are still ringing
my heart, my body and soul
knew: you all are not whole
anymore, but you were just freezing in the cool
do not make me a fool
that big birdie right to the bottom
with that rapid speed
as if to a large concrete
MH 370 you are now in freezing coolest water
know, that we all still bother
between air-intro space
or salted water filled ground
with the deepest bound
no matter what, we still care about you all
what only matters how long have you been suffering
in that suffocating small space between those walls
we all heard you sing
whatever Thy Response, i do understand Thee
no matter what, it's Thy divine decision
oh Lord, that suffocating air on the bottom of the Indian Ocean
how they were suffocated altogether suffered
and that only 2500 km away from Perth
but i trust Thee Lord, Thou hath Thy own reason
whatever may be Thy divine decision and Thy precision
may all passengers be altogether in greatest peace and ease
may they all really be released and now Rest In Peace....
© Sylvia Frances Chan
AD.Saturday 22nd March 2014~~at 3.09 hrs a.m.~~
ADDED Notes:
Since 11th March this MH 370 has disappeared from the radar navigation~~since then I had watched each hour of every day TV journals~~~till today they have found the wreck~~~the chinese in Beijing announced the news today~~
CORRECTED on Monday AD. 24th March 2014 21.12 hrs. pm~~ Malaysia too has announced this news, that they have found the wreck TODAY 24th March at 2500 km away from PERTH, West-Australia at the bottom of the Indian Ocean~~~~~~~~
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
I glance out of my driver’s side window
and see a boy
trudging miserably down the sidewalk
his essence radiating awkwardness
this long haired kid, maybe twelve years old
or just turned thirteen
wore hand me down boots that are too big for his feet,
ripped jeans, and a bookbag slung across his shoulder
in the dying days of July
whispering under his breath
maybe reciting poetry
or telling himself a story
And I honestly think
if time is fluid, like the oceans
like the monks say
then maybe I’m glancing over as a wave breaks
and I’m looking at myself
I couldn’t tell you how many times
I made that journey on foot
my heels throbbing, my legs begging to be broken
my hitchhiker’s thumb, had given up all hope at that point
I think about giving myself a ride
to wherever I may be going
but then I remember all the lessons I’ve learned
from time-travel movies
the one universal rule being not to meddle with the past
something about a butterfly’s wings flapping in Beijing
and a tsunami in New Orleans
or whatever
so, instead I honk my horn
and the traffic light turns green
I watch the boy, who might have been a younger me
in some distant past,
look on with curious anger as the cars pass
for a moment
then return to the story already in progress
he grows tinier and tinier
in my rear view mirror
until he is yesterday again
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
I thought the cold air would help
But there's only ******* smoke
Free **** I'm living the dream of a million burnt out lungs
with capillaries astray -
Sadness is a comfort
Happiness burns against my eyelids
It sears against the grey -
Age doesn't matter as long as you pay
Head high to keep the nausea at bay;
Visions blur, thought the alcohol in my
backpack somehow took effect
it was just the ******* smoke.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.
"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.
Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.
The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.
The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.
Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.
Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.
The Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks
Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
I inhale into my back bend as my mother and pregnant aunt do the same.
my mother’s toes begin to wiggle on their own
my aunt, eyes closed and belly full, mumbles along with the mantra
words that are unfamiliar to me
yet are home.
Keith prefers to be called Di Laoshi
but I call him Keith in private
even though he compliments me on my characters
and wants to send me to Beijing.
I smile because
xiexie is easier to pronounce than
wo bu zhidao.
my teacher
named for a province in Spain says
he has adopted himself.
the yoga DVD instructs to
drink from the well,
so I
call to Aunt Lakshmi
Di Laoshi
Master Ozuna
and I do.
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 7:35 PM UTC
this old year in its last hours
checks its tie
its coat tails
its long trousers
spats
its insalubrious look
gets ready for one last stand
at the times square of our minds
sick in singapore she wrote
i rather be caned that live one more day
and i concurred i rather she'd be caned
than i
here in ohio i hear some winter birds
i swear and i attest
their forlorn cries carry far
and sometimes i believe i see their shapes
remotely flitting far
their cries carry far
here in ohio
where the winter snow came and went in two whole days
its surprising whereabouts both seen and felt
now we are back to flimsy silver lace affixed on
windows
infirm in beijing she said
they all spit!
i took that as a sign she was getting well
here in the post soltice winter there is hope
for longer days ahoy
the maritime soul departs in yet another lost boat
inexplicably tied to the date
sick in mazatlan she said the water makes me puke
i heard later she bought a boat to sail from the west coast
down to the panama canal then up the east coast to new yor
k
that was her plan
but no she gave it up after she bought the boat
she realized she would have to fill it with ***** and nothing
else
choice give up the ship or sink under the influence
i hear the "Rosa Linda" i still tied in long beach pier
I mourn such passing as the days
disclose and hide in a foggy patina of misremembrance
see this was her coat her gloves
the angle of her visor gave us more of her
than i can just now tell i cant even remember the color
of her eyes
and yet firmly believe that we once met
as i get ready to welcome a new year
back to the chalk line
on your marks
ready
set
go to my habitual everyday
here in ohio some winter birds
pester the air with their calls
perhaps they know something about time
I don't know
anyway, let's go meet another minute hour or day
sick in
ohio i say
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 3:19 PM UTC