"oriental" poems
you are inches
measured by miles away
bulldozing oriental food
you don't intend on eating
around your plate
and i am imagining
the translation of asking
for a broom in a foreign language
for when you shatter over small talk
or the first sentence to start with "so"
breaks you into shaking
that i can feel from across the table
and i am thinking now
about tectonics and how you must be daydreaming of being submerged in a book
back home or gripping tightly
to bedsheets begging for familiar warmth
i can tell by the way you are looking at me
that you are feigning our salutation embrace
seconds drowned in ankle deep water and i wonder if you see my hands
as jackhammers and if the reason
why you hug so hard
but only for a moment
is to be as sharp as possible
so that i do not smell your perfume
or notice that you aren't wearing any and why
there are few suprises
in the safe you claim is a mouth
where shades of plush pink
hide a sickly pallor
and i continue to look over
brick & mortar borders
and think how maybe
she is thinking of kissing
but certainly not me
not these apologies nailed to my face
i give myself a moment
of benefitted doubt that you sometimes
picture your frame under mine
and if your clavicles would crack
if i were to touch them
i am sorry that i am a victim of imagination
but i swear i chalk it up
as the forgotten feeling
for when you look up
and the person you are looking
at is gazing directly at you
you have painted yourself
as a mosaic in my mind
as a mess of dust & incoherent words
that all sound like please in my ears
but that doesn't explain why
my hands are the ones that are shaking
when i imagine you
imagining me
in the spaces of yourself
where you've forgotten
you could put someone
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
I remember her.
On days like these,
she would light up
a few oriental sticks
to make our house
smell like lavender.
On days like these,
she would make some tea.
She had her own rituals,
she dried some herbs,
by the window,
and,when i think about it ,
her hair smelled like lavender.
On days like these,
she would take long showers,
and sit by the fire,
waiting her hair to dry,
and i would kiss her skin,
and touch her body,
which had a scent of lavander.
On days like these,
she would stay until dawn,
to watch the snow fall,
her soul had traces of lavander.
On days like these,
she would lay in bed,
she would talk to me for hours,
until all the pillows and sheets
had a smell of lavender.
on days like this i would
bring home many gifts for her,
but i picked only the ones which
smelled like lavender.
This year she is gone,
but the snow...
it has bittersweet smell
attached to it,
a smell that is familiar,
it smells like lavender.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
Like an Oriental statue
She sit's upon a volcano;
As her beauty errupt's........
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
That Chinese box
Your wares untasted
From whence arose
The lunar doom
Of my obsession.
Some oriental harmony
I never heard
Auspicious omen of prosperity
That passed me by
Like cloud shadow across moon
On a restless night
Long ago.
Your pale and autocratic beauty:
Moon over wall-gate in frontier
Long gone
Like life on a distant planet;
I am out of your orbit . . .
Still you circle
Serving others more worthy
Of your light.
I still love you, Mooncakes
Though I shall never taste you.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn
bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum-
black leached from green, deep pools
wherein a globe of gnats revolves
as airy as an astrolabe.
The thinning shade of autumn is
an inherited Oriental,
red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.
Shadows on snow look blue. The skier,
exultant at the summit, sees his poles
elongate toward the valley: thus
each blade of grass projects another
opposite the sun, and in marshes
the mesh is infinite,
as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight
drags across the desert floor
is infinitesimal.
And shadows on water!-
the beech bough bent to the speckled lake
where silt motes flicker gold,
or the steel dock underslung
with a submarine that trembles,
its ladder stiffened by air.
And loveliest, because least looked-for,
gray on gray, the stripes
the pearl-white winter sun
hung low beneath the leafless wood
draws out from trunk to trunk across the road
like a stairway that does not rise.
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The chao phraya river song
by: David Wayne Clare
Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)
Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-damn-mean but, that's where you'll find me... along with buzzards, ******** and kumoi dope fiends...
Chorus
we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !
now...
oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens
I dig them slant-eyed ******
them sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13!
(Miami Hotel)
cause they love that ***** water ...
oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !
(Harmonica Solo)
You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)
Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...
One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...
'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !
Refrain
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...
Buddha!
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...
Oh, Bangkok, Thailand... you're my home!
(Sharp jumps from river with snied smile... big splash sound...)
(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI
Thailand...
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
i.
Her orient smile
Canst maketh a sick child
Walk if once was lame;
ii.
Tis she's wild
With an innocent smile
O' how heaven's untamed.
iii.
Her name's sweet Jane
A cherub of oriental flame;
She drive's me mad, crazy, insane in a good way.
iv.
Thence back to her smile
I jump back inside her aisle;
O' heaven is sweet,
O' how heaven is sweet in sweet Jane!!!
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose)
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
If you visit google's home page today
You will see a Japanese man
Examining noodles with a microscope
Hahaha
Thank you Momofuku Ando!
For inventing Top Ramen
Although not the healthiest choice
Here are the sodium levels for each flavor
Top Ramen Oriental Flavor-- 800 mg 33% daily value
Top Ramen Beef Flavor-- 760 mg 32 % daily value
Top Ramen Chicken Flavor-- 910 mg 38% daily value
Top Ramen Shrimp Flavor-- 860 mg 36% daily value
Top Ramen Picante Beef Flavor-- 780 mg 32% daily value
Top Ramen Chili Flavor-- 760 mg 32% daily value
If you are watching your sodium levels
Stay away from the chicken and shrimp flavors
Lol!
Many college students
Throughout the past few decades
Have relied on Top Ramen
As they crammed for their exams
I have even indulged
And enjoyed Top Ramen
Once or twice
During my early college years
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
We walk the smoke-thick winter street of sweet 'n' sour aromas
amongst a throng of oriental shaded faces (such gentle souls)
who crowd little pushcarts selling scallion pancakes.
Overhead, red talismanic paper lanterns bob, enticing us
to the tap of percussive chopsticks.
We sit in awe; snack on duck-tongue; roast pigs hang
glistening; fat-fresh, ready to fry.
Waiters wheel trolleys piled high with steaming shrimp noodles
past tables of golden oranges and watermelon seeds.
Our Chinese chef prepares shredded pork in garlic sauce.
He smiles and says:
"More guests means more happiness."
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
High on the O2:
Red Rossopomodoro, Wagamama,
and on the bus shelter, Marc Jacobs,
and again higher,
Habitat,
then Metroline moves past.
It's the 113
to Oxford Circus,
and the 13 to Victoria:
Thrilla Lives On,
shouts the slogan,
while National Express has
All Set For Take-Off.
They're gone...
It calms
empties,
nothing much
just the red lidless eyes
of cars
two, three, four dozen pairs
hover
over the asphalt road.
Where...
where am I?
Ahhh, yeah,
in the Oriental Star,
the road seen from a table and stool,
waiting
for food.
Where have I hailed from?
My lover's womb.
No, no
NOT THAT!
The North Star, yes:
A pub on the Finchley Road,
Where Tottenham beat Liverpool 4-1
A pyrrhic victory!
Over a couple of beers.
Warm years, and tears.
A sense of place,
a home, a nest,
Receding in the traffic
Of a busy road,
Waiting on noodles.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 6:15 PM UTC
The chao phraya river song
by david john clare
Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)
1 Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-damn-mean but, that's where you'll find me...
along with buzzards, ******** and kumoi dope fiends...
chorus 'cause we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !
2 now...Oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens
I dig them slant-eyed ****** Them
Sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13! 'cause they love that ***** water ...
oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !
(Harmonica Solo)
3 You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)
Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...
One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...
'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !
Refrain
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...
Buddha!
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phrya River, Chao Phraya River...
Oh, Bangkok you're my home!
(Big smiling shark jumps from river with switchblade knife in between teeth...)
fin
(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI
Thailand...
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
I feel close to you,
Though far,
I feel the chill down the spine.
Like raindrops falling on leaves,
you slipped right through me.
You slipped right into me.
I imagine your hands
and how it would feel like to hold them,
I imagine your eyes,
and how it could read my play by play.
Imagination fuels curiosity,
Curiosity fuels death – death in your hands.
Unique relationship of a thousand purposes,
We walk towards an oriental sun,
I remember your perfume
like memorizing keyboard characters.
But we have dismembered physicality.
We have configured a disfigured mentality.
Let’s not go outside,
Beauty has its way to disconnection,
I know it too well from you.
I feel detached from my consciousness,
In this dream, rationality became serendipity.
I turned to sleep – only to stay awake.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 2:50 AM UTC
so i came across
a brand called oriental
in a bag of green crunchy peas
one of my favorite snack
i could have a rack
align in rows of lovely packs
simple ingredients of
green peas, vegetable oil
sugar and salt
flavor enchacer
kept me to munch on it
even when i was little, as a girl
not to forget
super ring cheese snack
under the same brand
oriental
i have tried many other
green peas snacks
but no other have i taste
as flavorsome as this
so i snack and snack
and i snack on it
and i wish that
it will stay as long as i will live
oriental green peas snack
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
There we were
In the midst of an oriental expose
More like a permanent museum display
The history of our foundation here in the West
Build on the backs of the yellow and black
Only I prefer to keep clear of the festering beast that is Oakland at high noon
No
This was someplace stranger
Chinatown, San Francisco
A soy canker in the greasy mouth of America
In some circles this was the closest thing to an escape
Or the closest thing to internment
It’s all about perception
A pompous soccer mom/beast attempting culture meanders through the local chaos
Green beans or shallots tonight?
A psychedelic mess with an unwarranted response
Could she handle the absurdity?
I care not, choose the latter sweetheart
“Shallots”
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
i.
O'
Timely
Apricity;
ii.
Mayest thou
Warm, and blanketeth
Me; as a neonate, as
Thou shalt gorgonize
Me, from within the space,
Ourn embracing is a cataract,
Of heavied chime-together laced.
iii.
Thine speak is comely, Concord
To mine earshot; the copse is
Surrounding, none manor
Needed, just the coney's,
With the delightful tree's,
veneering ourn cot.
iv.
Exhaling all ourn woes
And sorrow's, as if none
Tommorrow; None haste,
And none distaste, house-
Leeks groweth whilst the
Flaxen colored roses follow.
v.
O' oriental Apricity
I'm cold mine lass,
I'm freezing fast;
This winter day
Hath chilled mine
Soul, I needeth thine
Fire-place, to heateth these bones.
Though far-flung, away on stretched water's.
I'm awaiting for thee, mine queen, O' Apricity,
I'm awaiting O' queen, mine swart of the sea, thou holdeth the lock, tis I hath the key, here thou goeth amour', open it up, flyeth on through-setteth me free.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
813
This quiet Dust was Gentleman and Ladies
And Lads and Girls—
Was laughter and ability and Sighing
And Frocks and Curls.
This Passive Place a Summer’s nimble mansion
Where Bloom and Bees
Exists an Oriental Circuit
Then cease, like these—
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I take a look at this World around me
I do not tolerate racism in all it's forms
Nor do I want to see facism around me
Or abuse, so much anger it storms
I respect every man and every woman
Be you christian, athiest or any religion
Be you straight, lesbian or a gay man
You are always my friend, no matter what the persuation
I understand what ever your ****** interest
As long as you respect me in myself
Be you happy or be you depressed
I respect friendship in itself
I believe every one is equal
I want a World of peace
I love all of the people
I wish hatred would cease
As for soldiers that fight in a war
You fight to keep all countries true
I may not understand some of what you fight for
But I know the hell you must go through
As for gothic, wiccan, witch craft and all your fate
You too are beautiful and you always will
I can never find the right words to state
Of how much friendship you always fill
Black, white, asian, oriental - no matter who you are
I love all of you , every one of you , one and another
My heart reaches out to you, so matter how far
We are all a mother, a father, a sister, a brother
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 4:20 AM UTC
warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way
for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....
a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time
now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!
© 2019
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.
You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.
You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)
Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.
Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
i
Aghast I was in, then an alien nonnative of this planet aroseth,
Her precious stones pierced me, nonjudgementally, I cried;
I bawled, as tis not in a bad way, but because her beautiful glimpse, her standing there, she saved me from the darkly stench.
ii
The kilig she giveth me is overwhelming, Kalinaw is delivering
I shalt Indak with her on the Hill's of her land, an Oriental band;
A queen, and one man, that man me, aforetime's I was lonesome
Tis now I am happy, she maketh mine wing's, flappeth so highly.
iii
She cometh at perfect timing, she assuage's mine hand's hole's,
She taketh the rivet's out from mine feet, she inspires me with her coming goals, mine sensation for her as a backarapper
Cracking to the fireworks glitz, her head on mine shoulder, lip's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
Have you ever "dashed through the snow"
"in a one horse open sleigh"
Seen eight maids a milking
saw the three ships I saw today
Have you ever seen a reindeer
With a nose that blinks bright red
Dreamt of fairies and of sugar plums
While sleeping in your bed
Have you ever put a penny
In the old man's hat
Sat down in the parlor
And played "the ministers cat"?
Have you travelled off to whoville
Seen the grinch, his fur all green
Have you ever seen Oriental Kings
Frankincense..I've never seen
But, at Christmas, yes at Christmas
We all sing and sing so well
Of these things that we believe in
And of things we know so well
I've never seen a Christmas
Where a snowman comes to life
But, for me, he lives each Christmas
With Jack Frost, and Frosty's wife
Seeing is believing,
But at Christmas, not so much
We believe in Father Christmas
Things we can't see and won't touch
Christmas is more than giving
It's a feeling in your soul
It's believing in mankinds goodness
Christmas makes me whole.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
The Daily Mail, UK and Herald Sun (Australia) report on how Father Gabriele Amroth of the Vatican teaches that yoga and Harry Potter and the ‘oriental religions’ are the works of the Devil...the following poem expresses my outrage at such stupidity and parochialism that still exists amongst some groups of Europeans even today in their relations with the East.
song of Father Gabriele Amorth
O yoga yoga
baby baby
sings Father Gabriele Amorth
in the Italian town of Terni
O yoga yoga
no go no go
to yoga yoga
baby baby
all you innocents
and pure
all blessed
and destined for Heaven
no go to yoga yoga
yoga yoga
yogurt is fine
sugar in your yogurt is fine
strawberry and apple
in your yogurt is fine
so eat eat your
yogurt yogurt yogurt
but yoga yoga
O yoga yoga
no go no go no go baby
baby baby
sings Father Gabriele Amorth
in the Italian town of Terni
and also no go to Harry Potter
baby baby baby
no go no go
no go to yoga no to yoga
and no go no go
to Harry Potter
baby baby baby
now say after me:
*yoga yoga yoga
baa baa baa
bad bad bad*
and say after me:
*Harry Potter Harry Potter
moo moo moo
bad bad bad*
O baby baby baby
at our next conference
I’ll teach you
how the Dragon is bad
and how the Chinese got it all wrong
all these centuries
with their Chinese Dragon, Dragon, Dragon
but that’s for next time
next time next time
baby baby baby
for now just repeat after me
your most reverend
Father Gabriele Amorth
in the Italian town of Terni:
*O yoga yoga
no go no go
to yoga yoga
baby baby*
And say after me
all ye faithful
all ye blessed:
*Harry Potter Harry Potter
moo moo moo
bad bad bad*
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:38 PM UTC
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday--
You meet me and you say:
'Don't forget to see about the cattle--'
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life--
And I see us meeting at the end of a town on a fair day by accident,
after the bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us -- eternally.
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