"seaports" poems
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the trodden womb,
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely stumbling
Over the manwaging line.
The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the manwaged tomb
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely leaping
Over the warbearing line.
Through the rampart of the sky
Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled,
Manna for the rumbling ground,
Quickening for the riddled sea;
Settled on a ****** stronghold
He shall grapple with the guard
And the keeper of the key.
May a humble village labour
And a continent deny?
A hemisphere may scold him
And a green inch be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a drunken shore
Have their thirsty sailors hide him.
May be a humble planet labour
And a continent deny?
A village green may scold him
And a high sphere be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a thirsty shore
Have their drunken sailors hide him.
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the foreign fields of space,
Shall not thunder on the town
With a star-flanked garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-tomorrow
Range on the sky-scraping place.
Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the star-flanked fields of space,
Thunders on the foreign town
With a sand-bagged garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-to-morrow
Range from the grave-groping place.
3.4k
The yellow sun
Seems to have shied
Away from my father.
I take one hard look,
Cut
His figure like cardboard,
Paste
Him in the throes
Of the Great Wall,
The seaports of Guangzhou...
It fits him like a glove.
My grandfather
Still thinks it's 1937.
He came here
On a boat
That collapsed
Kissing
Our blueing shoreline.
And I'm not sure if he has
Any memory
Of home but
If so, he seems determined
To live as a straggler.
Forever caught in between
His beloved red-ink
Chinese newspapers
And the fact
That he swears
Quite fluently in Tagalog.
My dad
Always forbade me from cursing.
Rarely did himself.
When he did though,
He'd do it fluently
In Chinese,
His beloved
Local newspaper,
Black and white,
Folded
On his lap.
...sometimes I wonder
If the boat
Truly made it
At all.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
WE OUT HIP DEEP IN THESE WAVES
A LIFE CREATOR IN THESE WAVES
PUTTING HER HAIR UP IN A PONYTAIL
SHE’S MY OWN SURFER GAL
YES!
HER NECKLACE’S MADE OF SHARK TEETH
AN ANCHOR ON HER LEFT THIGH
HER BLUSHING WHISPER’S IN THE SEASHELLS
PUT BALANCE IN THE POSITIONS
YEA
SHE’S OUT ON TOP OF MY SURFBOARD IN THESE WAVES
SKRRRT
A TSUNAMI FORMING IN THESE WAVES
PEOPLE RUSHIN' TO THE LAND
SHE GON' BE A WASH UP ON THE SAND
SMALL BABY TURTLES FROM THEIR SMALL HOLE
COMING FOR HER RESCUE
COASTS ALL GLO'D UP
OATMEAL COLORED CONSTELLATIONS
SHE WALKED UP TO ME WITH A BLANK JELLYFISH
HAND IN HAND, GIVE N TAKE
BACK N FORTH, MY LIL MERMAID
COUPLE OF SEAPORTS IN HER HAIR
2 STARFISHES COVERING HER *******
SEAWEED HANGING AROUND HER HIPS
FROM QUAYSIDES WIT THEM WHARFS
TO A LITTLE HUMAN BODY
LAID IN THE SAND
JUST THEM
DRIFTIN
TIDES
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC