"kyoto" poems
Awake to a slowly beating drum
morning meditation drifting up the hill
in the garden, tiny birds add sweet highs
tuneless ravens, the bass undertone
trees whisper ancient lyrics
on the passing breeze.
We stroll the Path of Philosophy
through massive wooden gates
into carefully sculpted gardens
exploring the endless number
of temples dotting Kyoto
each more lovely than the last.
Quiet Nanzen-Ji
is where I feel the most
following worship worn
steps to a cave-shrine
heady with wet
and incense
we are purified
by waterfall spray
before returning
the way we came
voices hushed
buoyed by eternity’s hand.
The hotel lobby is filled
with crimson and saffron
glistening heads and broad smiles
from monks gathered there
we bow to each other and are one
may it never be forgotten
revelers arrive by busload
for hanami, cherry blossom viewing
beneath a revered tree
decked out in pink splendor
lit from below to radiate
surreal, internal light
we sample Kobe yakitori
soba and corn
grilled over open flame
as we flow
through the smiling
celebratory crowd
we savor
what is transitory
as sparks
and blossoms whirl
settling on
our hair and skin.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;
I surrender.
I surrender to –
Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Shibata Zeshin studied art at Kyoto
and in farewell
was told by his sensei:
“you never know
the immensity of Mt Fuji
standing on it;
and so you never know
my importance as your teacher
and how fortunate you’ve been
till you go away from me
and you return to your native Edo”
and in years to come
Zeshin tells his departing students:
“may it be that you
become great artists
and you might say:
I studied under a man called Zeshin”
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
O my little darling,
let’s drop by the coffee shop,
we'll have a quick hot-brew.
There's nothing like
a mug of strong Colombian!
Then we can head over to Kyoto’s,
we'll have some platters of delicious-sushi.
I really love the sashimi.
There's nothing like eating spicy raw-fish
coated with that fiery-hot wasabi!
Hey you girl,
I don’t want to sound too pushy,
but it’s getting kind of late,
let’s head over to my place,
we'll mix up
a couple of slow screwdrivers.
There's nothing like
those tasty midnight cocktails,
I love sipping them,
especially with you.
O you’re my prefect date,
so scrumptious,
so true,
I think I love you!
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:06 AM UTC
Tea sprouts wildly
by the roadside:
jade splayed fingers
flaming the earth
in warped green flicks.
Mild, astringent,
the aroma drifts
into the
triviality
of the present.
Looking over
my backyard fence
toward the road,
quick, damp-green scent
antiquates my
vision: Eisai,
holding seeds from
Kyoto, hikes
across border
hills into a
feudal Japan.
The tea-lined road,
framed by my
imagination,
is an anachronism,
a snapshot that’s
double-exposed.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
I went to meet her in a town
just west of Kyoto
she was wearing a colourful flowing kimono.
She greeted me greedily
and she seemed to float ultra easily on her feet
which were tiny
petite.
In the bath house, a tub
an afternoon scrub
and some very green tea.
When the washing was done
Mah Jong
Oh what fun
as I bathed in the glow of the late evening Sun.
Then I woke up in Bow
East London, as if I didn't know
was it a dream?
And yet I was surprisingly clean
except for a tea leaf that clung to my sleeve.
Hard to believe but it's true.
I wouldn't kid you
and it's difficult to see how a tea leaf from green tea
can end up in my bed.
In a town West of Kyoto there's a story they tell
Of a Westerner doing quite well
and getting wed to the belle with the petite little feet
I'd like to meet
him.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 4:06 AM UTC
Tears rush down my cheeks
My nose runs
I desperately scrounge for Kleenex
You stand and stare awkwardly
Unapologetic for your cruelty
You're safe for now; I'm still crying
But once this flood stops
And I figure out exactly how much is your fault
You'll die
I still have ten seconds of bawling
You have ten seconds to run
Run to Ecuador and become a drug dealer
**** off the Yakuza in Kyoto
Double cross a gang of Trinidadians
Become an alcoholic gold miner
All of these are less consequential than what I plan to do.
Any place is safer than in front of me, so you'd best be fleeing.
Ten seconds ************
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
~
*She is not our shrine,
she prays differently
with eyes holy open,
fingers on votive offerings,
preferring her solitude
in the Tea Garden, drinking light
Tomorrow on the tarmac
one flowered suitcase,
stamped for the city of neon people,
will travel to her song,
the pilgrimage of anemic lovers
Her hoisting from water,
(ampullae in hand),
and the unique boutique
growing out of
an alabaster chamber
bring monks out of hiding
The center line of her,
where the flower blooms forth
and learns by observation,
is still an unvisited temple
Until in season of calligraphy,
when she releases the Kogai
from her hair and sits with friendly toes
outstretched in the warm intimacy of
shared water*
~
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 9:41 AM UTC
Lost in my own world
In endless search of love
How has it come to this?
Why have the doves flown
to lands East and far
Where my heart cannot reach
She's there, I know
I sense, I feel
A soul in roses woven
Her thorns do not hurt
She waits, staring at the rain
From a Kyoto high-rise roof
The drops wet her cheeks
And yet she moves not
Her legs dangle and dance
From above that neon city
Surveying her world
She endlessly searches
For love
And wonders - how?
Why? - Where?
With a glance into her mind
She finds me there
Starting at a blank screen
Writing a poem
To her name
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 12:48 PM UTC
and now you're singing karaoke... so ha ha and Kyoto.
and this is the part where i tell you i love you?
it sounds like it's the part where i **** your dog off
and laugh; or maybe that's the part where
i say i'm scooch-peppery-ish!
tangy! mm hmm!
solid gold worth's an advert! aha,
Elvis just rolled up his sleeves!
while Shoon can-can the worthy,
sire nigh nigh the knighted made
speeches at a royal funeral that made 20 kings
abdicate, we all thought of Monaco
and Senna... lipstick Helsinki...
crisscross Albania and: Waterloo...
when Napoleon sniffed glue... oh Waterloo!
i too built Stockholm in a day, based on
the pop culture of Europe casually so.
but indeed Sean, the flowery basin of all
that's Essex, Sussex and Kent,
i.e. Scottish, show... i'm ashoored it'sh
Shcandinavian cartoon or at least halfwit Belgian
with the moustache, dumb-flicked Hercules Poirot...
authored by a nagging Agatha Christensen.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
As the moon drifts further into the starry void,
Turning seas into watery graves;
The sun exudes heat, melting icecaps, and stirring up ecosystems.
Burning still in underground caves;
Coal...natural gas.. What shall we do? When all is consumed, there will be no use for you!
Soon they say, we shall fall, despite government policies like Kyoto protocol;
We have made better steps to ensure our safety...
But is it too late? Has our haste not been hasty?
Have our efforts been as strong, as the cars that we drive?
As the days move along; what will survive?
That is the question that comes first to mind;
Before clearing the thickets of woodlands and pine.
Before killing the terrorists... although I'm concerned;
Are we not the terrorist, to the rainforest and fern?
"Of course not!" they say, with such ill-thought conviction;
Well if that is not the case, then tell me your plan of transition.
Instead of restriction. We all have a right to be free; but each of us needs to understand and practice sustainability.
Like every tree, or animal that came before me...
All have a place in the world, which we live,
All have a reason, and truth that they give;
All have a story and a place in our history,
All have the same future; it's not such as mystery!
We are born, then we die, and go back to the land.
Never mind of religion; if it's used to command.
They will try and find a reason of sharing no blame,
For themselves, to the earth, to the wind, to the rain.
But now is the time when reality sheds light, on the brave few that are given wisdom and insight;
To stand up and be counted, will not take any lies; will not salute any flags, will not stand up and fight;
In any war - peace is upheld.... Guns are forgotten, and people are not jailed;
For speaking their thoughts, not keeping them in; to turn into cancer - of sadness and sorrow...
Tomorrow we say.... we'll get up and start, but it's time for a change.
If not to the world - then at least to your heart.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
The water's dreamy, slowly flowing
Between the corners of the streets,
Adorned brightly with lantern lights,
While the midnight wind is blowing.
Their moony, rosy brows are glowing,
At the breezing Kyoto nights,
Presenting to many crowds sights
Who're beautiful, while on they're going.
A maiko here, a geisha there,
Fleeting around in the bright moonbeams,
Like sakura petals on a spring-night.
I ask, they are going to where,
Besides just ending up in dreams
With their paints who're red and white?
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
I'm where I want to be
The happy place
I've returned after two years
Much has changed
Many things have not
The sights of skyscrapers
The scent of green tea and fumes
All seems like home to me as I walk through the city
Yet I cry
Smiling comes from time to time
Fake it until you make it comes into play as I'm asked how I am
Silent screams of loneliness
Tears of yearning
For things just beyond my reach
I'm falling into the darkness while in my happy place
When I return 'home' it will be worse
Isolation
Pain
Frustration
Fear
All this fills my mind as I wave goodbye to Tokyo
Kyoto is to come
A spark of joy and excitement
Yet why am I dying when I'm in my happy place
Tokyo & Kyoto
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Kyoto rock garden:
mist rises among the pines...
where is that remote?
Bashō-san help me !
That big frog on lily pad
scared me with Haiku.
Shinto temple dawn...
monks ringing the temple gongs:
what a hangover.
Island of robots
poetic soul of *****
and those weird soft drinks
From bowlegged troops
invading the entire East
to bland consumers.
Japanophilia:
weakness of the western mind
grass no greener
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 7:29 AM UTC
Lying together in
the calm of night
eyes losing focus,
drifting towards
sleep, there was
always one more
thought to speak,
one more kiss to
give. Black hair
shone like ravens'
wings on silken
pillows. At dawn,
I would lead my
army into battle,
never to return.
Now, you turn
your face to smile
at a new love,
holding a black
umbrella over her
pretty blond head.
When we met,
our souls saw
who we were
to one another.
But that was then,
my love.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone
Reminisce
In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of
Love
Floating above
The placid
Waters
One
Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace
And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!
Covering your manly
Shoulders
Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance
Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .
Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile
Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic
Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret
No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!
Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.
You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..
When they whisper
Wisdoms to your son's father
When they sturm und drang my sweetest
Sister
The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.
Playing
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
They guard our gates. We are ruled by mechanised gods.
We are not free.
We are not real.
We are not awake.
Our mornings wake up to dew and smoke. We wake up and pick up our broomsticks and sweep.
You and I are made to sweep.
And it is through these sweeps we dance our fated dances.
Dance to wake the castles,
and water the gardens,
and venerate Emperors long dead and gone.
“This,” we say, “is our duty.”
“To belong.”
“To bow together.”
“To hope as one.”
We, all key cogs in the machinery. Everyone has a broom and dustpan. Everyone is made to sweep.
"Is this the land," we ask, "that we sang for and dreamt our feverish cartoon dreams for?"
Perhaps not. Our stories exist only in a land beyond time.
We’ve been there. It is a mechanism for the gods. They too hold brooms.
They too sleep in shrines of stone.
They too live in temples of steel.
The gold ones have long ago burned.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
Middle of nowhere, I am still standing
Layers of faded mountains, across the withering cloud-gazing
Tell myself I was wrong, the light sky almost gone
Blocks of buildings, relinquish all the shades
North, South, East, West; tell them it was haul fate.
If creeks sound as scary, it would rings no more fury
Let the memories knock on your magnetic parietal door
Speak of colors of vividness, occasional emptiness
Cherry-blossoms feeling gone, yellow Autumn looks as fine.
Every light, turn on the fight
People jump over the stepping river by the mountainside
Greet, kindness will never ceased.
26th September 2016 - Kyoto, Japan
Amiera Sh.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
‘Round the world and pieces of me,
So speaks one body come a –
A bad night’s blood spatter in Sioux City,
Lonely little toenail clippings swept Dubai,
Whiskey scented stubble, London nigh Paris,
Oh! The calloused skin round bend,
Wrought broken, my lovely Kyoto,
And maybe, just maybe,
A heart or five elsewhere.
So when the tooth-clerk barricaded
Dusty Chinese counter-top asked,
“Do you want to keep them?”
I responded and with haste, “yes;”
And with a thieves hand,
Snatched my two molars removed.
For I’d already left one too many
Pieces of me here, and though
It was only a tooth, I hadn’t much left.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Before the sun brightens our half of the earth
Birds chirp at the break of dawn
You and I, my love
Turn dream to action and embark
Fill our knapsacks with blankets and sweets.
We’ll slip away unnoticed
Without maps or shoes
Fools desperate to explore the unknown.
We’ll gyre the states as gypsys
Ride rails to the sweet scene of a passing countryside
Our destinations many
Kyoto to Anchorage
Shanghai then Budapest
Should we lose our way
It wouldn’t matter the slightest
Should I wake in your embrace at the crack of a new dawn.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
chin turns, shadows flit
cobble stones murmur - do you?
the lane forks in two
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Mr. Lotto
Went to Kyoto
Clicked a Photo
Turned Right
Found a Sumo
Entered fight
Returned home
With a Prize
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 5:49 AM UTC
i’m going to take this knife and slit your throat
underneath it all
dancing very close
you took my hand
but you flew out of the nest,
i'm standing on my own two feet
so the static started
with things to do
everyday and night.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
I've left my heart in different places,
it's been slowly chipped away at.
In La Paz,
it was the chicha
& in Mendoza,
a Malbec at Azafran,
nice warm saki in Kyoto,
some anejo in Ensenada
& cheap beer in Seattle.
Now all I have left
is enough for shots
of fine whiskey...
I'm still ticking Darling,
cheers.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
Flowering beauties
Ochaya’s on Gion Streets
Soothing sweet maikos
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC