"thanh" poems
quiet evening beach, "Nguyen Tat Thanh"
long stretch sugary brownie field
two strangers by the shore
the waves crawl with lure
succulent are the thoughts
two caught in bait of mind games
exchanged soft kisses and caress
as her eyes met the sea
yet they're in control in their heads
no dramas but
a feeling of detach
no promises to profess
the voyage of time runs a race
tailored moments kept hidden
morning comes another day
yesterday a tale story to say
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:30 AM UTC
You measure time by smoking cigarettes,
out on balcony where sunlight strokes
the wooden panels soaked from the rain
cast down from skies that are shades of blue
too beautiful to paint on a borrowed canvas,
once belonging to your mother
who brought it over while on a voyage
through endless waters, cumbersome,
an eternity to get through.
You are in Cartagena. And he is in Virginia.
You and him face-time, looking into screens,
to see if you’ve both aged, to see why
you both no longer smile at sarcasm and punchlines.
You look for jobs on your laptop,
while piano melodies flutter in the background,
nothing coming up in your search,
worth wasting time for. You read books
by Viet Thanh Ngyuen, talk to strangers in bars,
and sleep in until noon in a plush bed built
from hands you’ve never touched.
The clock, ticking on the wall,
a heart still beating under a cage of ribs,
and you don’t want to step foot
on a cold floor where dust refuses to collect,
a path laid out to the balcony
where you stand over the railing,
a dream in your muddied mind, a hangover
perhaps, a change in mood,
a wrist being bent, in an angle
that is in the direction of a journey
you will never take without a hand,
a guide, a push to get you going.
You take a photograph with your phone
of the place where Gabo used to sit and eat,
and drink and write. And you tell yourself,
“What a pretty desk, look how it stands upright.”
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
*HUMAN NATURE
Many come from lands
that seem light years away.
Speaking tongues that tickles,
as neurons flow in an open mind.
Strange, yet like the sounds of Jade,
makes you giggle as you realize
all that is being said is,
“Hey Red, how are you doing man?”
~~~
Many come looking for HOPE;
work, a way to feed their young ones.
Many come simply to survive
the destruction
that once was home.
They come to escape being disappeared;
come because of disappeared loved ones;
sons, husbands, daughters
found some day, maybe, in mass graves.
Disappeared by:
Ton Ton Macoutes,
Death Squads, Dincote,
Special forces conquistadors,
or any number of SOA trained
armies/soldiers stamped with:
“Made In The U.S.A.”
~~~
They come to ‘live free’ or
find ‘democracy’, ironically
to the very place
that is responsible for this disgrace-
fullness committed against humanity.
~~~
They come to live
and yet, their dreams are of
HOME!
Home where there is peace.
Home, where jobs are meaningful,
not enslaving.
Home, where the land is yours
and crops plentiful,
allowing you to live as human beings.
~~~
These are proud,
brave and daring men
with names like:
Thanh, Aftab, Simon, Mukesh
and Donovan.
These are determined, dignified women
with heads held high
and names that seek the skies:
Ekta, Mai, Kenya, Nazma
and Sing.
~~~
Looking out at their varied shades of skin,
wistful eyes, reflecting like
fall leaves in a vast rain forest,
it is easy to get lost
in these cold waters of diversity.
Looking
Lost
Wishing
Dreaming of a dripping wet world
as seen from outer space;
AS ONE.
No borders,
No boundaries,
flying thru a blue, cloudless sky.
Breaking ALL traditions chains.
(written using the pen name)
~~redzone 4.2.01~~
Posted 10.31.15 Aztec Warrior*
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
My Dear Việt Nam,
There's no day that I think
To the colors of your charm:
Hoàng, like the sun and the sand, the imperial domain;
Thanh, the green wilderness protecting your heart,
But not only that: the sea and the sky as heaven before my eyes;
Hồng, are the veins, the red flowing blood, that the soil has received, that the earth has consumed;
And the purity of lotus, born in the mud,
is painted in red but fading into Bạch.
Mar 15, 2019
Mar 15, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC