"huang" poems
Bodhidharma, the first Zen patriarch,
told Emperor Wu that merit
meant nothing;
but great emptiness
revealed by sitting facing a wall
had great merit.
Wu was perplexed.
Patriarch number two, Hui-k’o,
faced a granite wall in a forest for seven years;
it became his beloved.
Seng-Tsan, the third Zen patriarch wrote poems
and his legendary Hsinhsinming verse
transcended all the unnecessary duality
in the mind’s mire.
Tao-Hsin, patriarch number four,
said don’t’ stare at a wall,
just do the laundry
and watch the clear water
turn brown
then pour it onto the vegetables in the garden
when you’re done.
Patriarch five, Hung-Jen
meditated from age six staring at the horizon
and said if you find the line between sky and land and sea
you slip into infinity
with no sky, land and sea
just one place for the mind to finally rest.
Hui-Neng came next;
no wall
no laundry water
no heavenly horizon
just fascinating monkey mind
sometimes full, sometimes empty
running whichever way, whenever,
and that was all good.
The 300-year Tang dynasty
had three wild man patriarchs-
Ma-Tzu shouted constantly;
Pai-Ching did laundry,
and Huang-Po told everyone
they were already enlightened
and should not bother with Zen at all.
Lin-Chi was the Jesus of Zen
who loved everybody everyday.
He taught the heart’s clear natural action,
compassion, not walls and laundry and trying not to think.
His love was wiser than his mind.
The patriarchs of zen
taught more than a thousand years
before I grew up an American idiot
in a materialistic world
populated by narcissistic borderline freaks
thumbing smartphones in leather car seats
never doing laundry
afraid to face the walls
built of brick made
mortared tight together
with the fear
of their own compassionlessness.
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
.
Zodiac
Killer Tsuomy
Miyazaki T e d
Bundy Saeed Ha
nuel Robert Pic
ton Robert Mau
dsley Robert Ha
nsen Moses Sith
ole Mary A n n
Cotton J e f f rey
Dahmer Huang
Yong G regorio
Cardenas Herna
Dez Gary Leon Ridgway Eliza
Beth Bart hory Dean Arnold Corli
Pedro Lopez Mary Bell Louis
V a. n S c h o o r
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Rouge, threaded dragons intertwined with oriental cherries
stain a mockery of silk spread across an unsteady table.
The lady, dwarfed by the redwood counter,
has skin stretched taught across the bones of her temples
only to softly be drooped and draped around her jowls.
She caught both my eyes in the little dips of her palms
but wrinkles worked onto her face are focused on receipts
and she is obviously oblivious that her hands, veined with sickly blue,
had struck me so hard that my head is thudding numbly.
Her nails are narrow and naturally long,
set into the spotted skin of her delicate fingers,
pulling at a memory bathed in red by the Chinese lanterns
hanging over me, the couple near the kitchen and tiny Mrs Huang.
Her hands gesture to me after calling my order twice
and I walk towards them to take the sterile, plastic packet
so that I can finally exit to the alley and spit into the gutter
a touch of an image much too familiar
to only belong to Mrs Huang.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
Water, Mother
Huang He
Vibrant Yellow Beast of fine-grained loess
fierce and breaking all bounds
like a restless dragon
Dragon with fire in its belly
and that screams out of its den
Oh Life-Giver, Death-Bringer
River, Yellow River, Huang He
with animal jaws that **** with lingering ******
and disease even after your rage -
what brought you to wildness?
such madness and ferocity - you wave away
villages, animals, women, mothers, children
and men and soldiers and trees and life;
you re-make the landscape with few brushstrokes:
black ink, swift flows, a scroll that is left sparse
Oh you who gives life at other times
with your arms of warm embrace –
Water, Mother
Huang He
Yellow of fine-grained loess -
why do you take it all away
with clawed hands of wanton, unbridled dragons?
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 6:48 AM UTC
Ode to the Thunder
My dark thunder, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you roar, shout and run,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the stark burp gun.
Let me compare you to a sanctuary?
You are more scary, terrorfying and strong.
Snow chills the berries of January,
And wintertime has the violent huang.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your frightening claws, teeth and eyes.
Thinking of your lightning teeth fills my days.
My hate for you is the wrong enterprise.
Now I must away with a wary heart,
Remember my dual words whilst we're apart.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
Whiz-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.
Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;
Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.
Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
I.
Have you seen faded flowers in the night?
Where an unknown heart got burnt at moonlight.
Would they wrap pale sunlight?
Allowing petals to sneak into a treasure box.
She lay in her chamber in the sea mountain side..
Fire flame burns the window green...
Wooden floor danced on crystal glasses..
The wind rushes out of the cloud by night,
Stabbing and poking her, Madam Huang
II.
Of those who were wiser than us---
Of many far talents than us---
Pray, neither for the angels in Heaven above
Nor the devil down under the tunnel
For the moon sunk in late November
Without interpreting her wonders, she left the sea bank,
Tears can ever dissolve her stories within the stories
III.
Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
When the stars have not risen,
They gather in the chamber by the sea.
A falling star shining in the far and burst,
a bolide flames transmitted Requiem finale.
Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
May the sky award true colours of the dying night.
IV.
Silent prayers are kneeling there, they seemed to share the shame
Prior to breathing out the crispy air of Late November.
She asked him once Her name.
Of the sorrowful Madam Huang
from the chamber in the sea mountain.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
*when i was in St. Petersburg i must have picked up a Rasputin virus, a Siberian gnat bite... **** you not; the only misery i have is that my counterfeiting assailants were, at best, middle class, and not aristocratic.*
no, honestly, after reading the style magazine
with all its smooch bravado of resentment and care...
i hash-tagged myself: yep it's trending...
i've just about finished a 70cl bottle of whiskey *******
around with Dylan Thomas and St. George... draco ex cymru.
but still it hits me, encoding sounds was never so hard...
those clouds of sunset look so much better
and multi-coloured when they do with sunglasses... i don't
know what's in these sunglasses but i'm picking out pinks
and purples... which i can't make out without
the sunglasses... an L.S.D. trip or what?
i wrote this faster than you'll read it, given the skim- aspect
of literature, immediate journalistic recycling...
they still love Shakespeare, don't know why,
don't ask me why, it's an affair of the english
education system... well... ploy...
conspiracies are welcome posthumously
and adequate intellectual material....
was it Marlowe or John Dee the Elizabethan era
double O 7 alchemist to blame? never seen oxygen
paired up like that! must be a crucifix miracle!
desecrate christ subsequently desecrate all
remnants of royal authority, **** into the crown
of the governor of Liechtenstein: what?
i need the loo! the idea of you teaching me manners
is like you teaching me Hadrian's is synonymous
with qin shi Huang's rattle; rattle meaning
the broken spines of the bricklayers who levelled
the ground around them with cement...
and still the Mongol horde came!
Scots looked at Hadrian's accomplishment and laughed
drunk with a lullaby. the Mongols stretched their
tongues saying: if Europe and Iraq to be ours,
we have to climb that, no arrow will crumble it
even if shot at the cracks! i love walls, esp. if they're
like Malbork castle of red brick... once owned by
Teutonic knights... i end up playing abstract chess with
their brickwork, a strange arithmetic...
girlfriend? what for? have you heard of the aces movement?
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
Golden Witch Desert Paradise Burning
chip revolutionary milk under cover of spirit
still loving spring sleeps China's color gun;
Date of blessing Eva keeps the course, Laura
in purple mist, Decapitated antes, Oh, mother!
Painful, big stars see the foolishness of green
lethal old trees focused on the product of love
and || love, who moves in the Unborn express
in the dark to whom Mr. Huang plays
a young man, Johann? Add the right direction.
And this is the experiment on the same night,
and night and in the garden of God's center
"yellow at night", and went and held by a pin:
fiery death of Lewellyn, dragon and it would
be from FG black, 500 pages filled with white
blood at each stage production and Adunrina
in the cup we are looking for him: for himself
should bring Vikic from the dead, Tom in another
form in the head of dog food, sandbags
and old Glover, male armed groups in the city
and pulled Kim Kim Cup Cup out of him
and other tools so that in glory, how much
is in the blood of goiri, which is given in the beast
and poodles and ideas to secure his crime
and the fish of the ****** of gold
and the size of the nose; this is checked
in the area of experience here
in the garden order to show, dinner
and long hair, blond hair has ****** dying
death is enough to pay a certain superiority
and resurrecting the Savior's face.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 7:23 AM UTC
Absurdity
is as throwing
a fork at a banana,
Giving them nicknames
And a narrative and calling
the event a Funeral, for
every banana that's
Never made it out
Alive o'cafeteria
Sorry I gave
mundane-
twisted !
a me- O
aning B
as my a
lyfe n
ho a
lds n
nun A Justyn Huang
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC