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"reveberate" poems
The first time you saw me you were staring at me face blank with a big question Where are you from? Thailand Japan South Korea Singapore Vietnam China, I am from China. I didn’t wait for you to get stuck in an endless abyss of map search Ah, China! Then you are suddenly reminded of an obselete word active in nowhere except your kitchen (and perhaps your GI tract) Painfully welcoming as you take a closer look at me now I felt like a ******* ****** mind frozen against your fierce gaze Though all you did was to shake my hand gently and briefly like you were just acquainted with me A slight trace of uncertainty flashed across your face as your eyes rested upon mine with a voice saying “Nice to meet you.” The second time we met you were smiling at me fighting the best you can to refresh memories about me Which part of China? Echoes of media reveberate beneath the screen So you’ve heard of the stories The rich east booming with red captitalism and the impoverished west ocassionally annoyed by separatist troublemakers But I am from the part of China with a past too glorious to be ignored yet a present too obscure to be proud One second of repositioning later I heard myself saying I am from the city of ancient China Then you were struck by thoughtful silence That was made of artificial admiration and numb alienation a secret nowhere to hide And I smiled back with real pains
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Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
javon-li
Hello, China!
The first time you saw me you were staring at me face blank with a big question Where are you from? Thailand Japan South Korea Singapore Vietnam China, I am from China. I didn’t wait for you to get stuck in an endless abyss of map search Ah, China! Then you are suddenly reminded of an obselete word active in nowhere except your kitchen (and perhaps your GI tract) Painfully welcoming as you take a closer look at me now I felt like a ******* ****** mind frozen against your fierce gaze Though all you did was to shake my hand gently and briefly like you were just acquainted with me A slight trace of uncertainty flashed across your face as your eyes rested upon mine with a voice saying “Nice to meet you.” The second time we met you were smiling at me fighting the best you can to refresh memories about me Which part of China? Echoes of media reveberate beneath the screen So you’ve heard of the stories The rich east booming with red captitalism and the impoverished west ocassionally annoyed by separatist troublemakers But I am from the part of China with a past too glorious to be ignored yet a present too obscure to be proud One second of repositioning later I heard myself saying I am from the city of ancient China Then you were struck by thoughtful silence That was made of artificial admiration and numb alienation a secret nowhere to hide And I smiled back with real pains
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intrguing, this global web site, when you post at your "odd" hours, somewhere it is early morn, or the dreading deading of night, late afternoon, lunchtime, and the, this poem slow falls to the bottom of the front page, into a Found, but Lost, maybe, some die almost, totally untouched, some shockingly reveberate, some holy revered, others, break & brate, forlornly, of unlimited loneliness this mystery I have studied, and freely admit, after 15 years, under-the-ladder-stand, and wisdom goes from zero to less and lesser; it is time for spring cleaning, amidst the chaos, in/of a turmoiled world, soiled, cleansing the palate this year, is harder than ever, and the more I ponder our exploding litany, I swallow acceptance whole, pre~forgive most sins, and submit to the burden and know this: of time and poetry, the poetry of time, now, more than ever, is the time for poetry and the time is: 5:44AM Tue 22 2025 nyc, usa and the poem is now!
0
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 5:57 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Time and Poetry (Spring Cleaning)
intrguing, this global web site, when you post at your "odd" hours, somewhere it is early morn, or the dreading deading of night, late afternoon, lunchtime, and the, this poem slow falls to the bottom of the front page, into a Found, but Lost, maybe, some die almost, totally untouched, some shockingly reveberate, some holy revered, others, break & brate, forlornly, of unlimited loneliness this mystery I have studied, and freely admit, after 15 years, under-the-ladder-stand, and wisdom goes from zero to less and lesser; it is time for spring cleaning, amidst the chaos, in/of a turmoiled world, soiled, cleansing the palate this year, is harder than ever, and the more I ponder our exploding litany, I swallow acceptance whole, pre~forgive most sins, and submit to the burden and know this: of time and poetry, the poetry of time, now, more than ever, is the time for poetry and the time is: 5:44AM Tue 22 2025 nyc, usa and the poem is now!
Continue reading...
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