"triads" poems
Keeper of the meaning
Mindfulness a prelude
The struggled literature
it asked the way
The keeper,
contemplating the path
Stopped to think about
Natural things
Asking elders on the trail
Creating triads
Depicting aspects
of her answer
To the question
What it means
And some;
were enlightened
And air and breath and beauty
Wrought wrath
Indigenous justices
Things worth keeping
To the keeper of meaning
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
I was doing research in Hubei
Where they executed Yu,
That deity soldier glorified
By Buddhists, Taoists too,
I sat perusing manuscripts
That dated from the Ming,
And came across a reference
About Yu’s finger ring.
A ring of gold so broad that it
Would fit a peasant’s wrist,
For Guan Yu was a mighty man
His ring, an amethyst,
Set round with groups of diamonds
It was lost the day, they said,
That Sun Quan had ordered them
To lop off Guan Yu’s head.
They lost it for a thousand years
It turned up with the Ming,
Was lost again in battle with
That mighty force, the Qing,
I’d heard it round the market place
A whisper, now and then,
That ring, it might have surfaced
In the village of Maicheng.
I scoured the streets and alleyways
For signs of old antiques,
Researching as I went, I walked
Around the town for weeks,
I found a backstreet corner shop
One night, and open late,
Run by a dodgy Chinaman
A total reprobate.
He had links to the Triads, they
Would come into the shop,
A shifty group of gangsters with
Their stolen goods to pop,
From where I sat with manuscripts
Up on the second floor,
I’d look straight down the staircase
Watch them come in through the door.
One day they brought in a bundle
Tied up in a burlap sack,
Threw it down on the counter, said:
‘What do you make of that?’
Fang Zhang then opened the parcel and
He pulled out a giant hand,
The flesh the texture of leather with
A monstrous golden band.
The ring was almost immoveable
The hand, with fingers spread,
Could grasp a maiden around the waist
Or crush a warrior’s head,
I held my breath as the Triad tried
To disengage the thing,
And all the while the diamonds flashed
On that massive golden ring.
Fang Zhang paid over a block of notes
That looked more like a brick,
There must have been a million Yuan
From what I saw of it,
The Triad left and I caught my breath
Fang Zhang had pulled it off,
He threw the hand in a ******* bin
And then I left the shop.
He hid the ring as I walked on through
I had to get some air,
I’d caught a glimpse of a famous ring,
A thing I couldn’t share,
They’d say it didn’t exist, that I
Was dreaming, if I tried,
They thought that it had been lost to view
The day that Yu had died.
I went back down the following day
The Police were there in force,
They stood out front and barred the way
From normal ***********
They told me through an interpreter
Of the ****** of Fang Zhang,
His face was black, for around his neck
Was a massive, ringless hand!
David Lewis Paget
(Pronunciation: Guan Yu - Gwon you
Hubei - Who - bay; Sun Quan - Sun Chu-arn
Qing - Ching; Maicheng - My - cheng
Fang Zhang - Fang Shjang (soft J))
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
As the blanket of the night falls in upon my soul
A voice cries out - it pierces me; a cry I can't control.
A melody of rhythms pulsate in my mind.
A harmony of triads, so dissonant and strong
Cries out in desperate longing for connection with the One
Whose music fills an empty heart and soothes the one undone.
This melody it haunts me as I fight to find some peace.
A song enchained in denial's hole - the curtain held in place.
Fighting with my deep desires, fear's words win over me.
I arise and try to sing above this tragedy.
I tuck away the voice inside - deafening its cry.
The new song I sing is more pleasing to my outer man's facade.
No depth, no joy, no lasting message; I find no real release.
The song within breaks through my mind and I'm driven to my knees.
My voice now sings the melody each note now resonates.
At first alone, the chorus sounds as it rises up to meet
The anthem's song of praise to Him Who sits upon the throne.
Deliverance is its sweet refrain - my voice now unrestrained.
I am lifted to a higher place drowning in this song of praise.
It's You O God, my King, my Love -
To You my heart does sing
A song of love and great desire
My soul is set on fire!
The intimacy I fought so long, now choosing to receive
I join with You in our love song
Fore'er with You I'll be.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
To have a sky that belongs to you
Ownership of blowing winds
Passion that thrives on fiery rains
Timid enough to tickle palm leaves, midmorning breeze
The Cat Lord reigns
The Gentle Bear croons
Fox Queen moon eyes over pounding rain and fragile dust and life in balance around and within
Perfect nestle
Triads and purples
Bass and tremble
Gentle
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
I remember the telling signs, of the forsaken path I carved for myself at such a young age, hopelessly lost.
The night terrors with bed wetting, a curiousity for the pain of others, and an undying love of flames.
Triads are sacred, often depicting tales of both good and evil, where I fall somewhere broken in between.
I drank till my belly was full, of that sweet gasoline, a hair trigger away from immolation.
See fire was soothing, watching it all burn was the beginning of my perfect crooked world.
Burning bridges, burning friends, burning anything for no real reason other than a crooked smile.
This wildfire of a tortured soul was doomed the moment I met the truth.
Only existing in the ashes, that evil had given the breathe of life.
I saw them stare, right through me, never knowing what I was.
Hating them for it, for this alienation, I will always remember.
But this is but a fragment, of a fractured soul.
Each broken shard screeching in the night for control.
I have never known peace, just the madness.
We do not even recognize ourselves anymore.
Just faceless creatures, struggling for singularity.
We bow to our king.
His fiendish broken crown.
Flashing his fangs.
He laughs.
Armageddon.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
I am over flowing.
A tempest,
Of temperamental triads and
Trebuchet casting wards past ivory towers.
My silent guardian,
Now waxes in power and glow.
It's shadow wanes from the movement
Of Whimsical celestial tops.
Dancing,
to natures infinite rise and fall rhythm
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
She was a rest in a bar full of staccatos.
She was the note played pianissimo and the key that didn’t sing.
She had no forte in her soul, her steps were slurring phrases.
This girl was the music of a broken string.
Hers were the fingers stiff and cold; and the lip plate never kissed.
A metronome of self-doubt always ticking in her ears.
Never allowed a change in tempo, never shown to spread her wings.
Singing lessons from the deaf for 15 years.
The other was a pickup note, anxious to play the tune.
The dancer skipping steps up ledger lines.
The crescendo of passion, the diminuendo of a lullaby,
This girl no blaring trumpet could outshine.
But though her eyes were made of stardust her heart pulsed slowly, portato.
No accompanist, no duet, no conductor to keep the beat.
Her cheeks stung from the disguise, her worry slowed her, legato.
Compensating for loneliness with quick tempo deceit.
But, like broken triads, fate had it the two would somehow fit.
Drawn together as tied notes, destined to play their piece.
One so controlled by the orchestra, the other yearning for a duet.
The enchanting harmony within them had always burned to be released.
They played as one instrument, arpeggios overlapping in a heavenly key.
Swinging in synchronization, the melody swam magically through the night.
No longer controlled by metronomes, no longer stuck singing solo,
Forever, together, their own sheet music they would write.
- p. winter
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
Pillars of your heart support the frames of my bed,
The sill of your sight enchants my glass windows,
And if your hand stays in mine, tears will never be shed,
Every cut, bruise, and scratch you get will be healed by my kiss,
If you ever burn down a tower, I will turn a blind eye,
Because even when you don’t try, you’re perfect,
Staying up late to not say “Goodnight my love,”
The only goodnight I want to give you is one without words,
Our kind of caring is something I’ve only spoke of,
But you are far more than any word can amount,
Your soul is something far greater than any voice,
And I wish we could just lay all day, not make a sound.
-July 4th 2013
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
Remove my clothes
Take the dirt off my bones
And place it on an altar
I wish to speak to you
In undertones of sadness
As you caress my head
We begin to make love again
For the third time today
We are dead to the world already
A pair of outsiders on a youthful escape
So we partake in naked escapades
And swim in the ocean till we turn blue
While some are glued to the television
We are now fresh and new
Free to resume our sacred fires
And sing our songs all night beside them
Performances are frightening
So I grind my teeth at night
We are waiting for surprises
Arising like triads of consciousness
Fences are fanatically fantastic
So please keep speaking to me now
Don’t close your mouth
Like lost children we are trusted
By the tremors beneath our hearts
Your art is lost in the wind
For there is a lack of static in our souls
We must make holes first and foremost
And then make stories in order to fill them
You became a poem
We were made from music
And breath is a feeling that bridges
The magic and the mayhem sandwiched
Between our staircases and basements
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
Crow-bars as big
as an Oak,
or the head
of Egyptian alien
architects build desert
triads,
ten thousand buff
onyx oxen men
to remove the kite
height splinter
from a kitten's foot.
Somehow I'll hold
my tongue-
tied like cherry stems
cross-like
the national anthem
spools of yarn
big enough
to fill a football stadium
in colors of senescent
knit sweats
alternates with purrs
and claws.
How can one apologize
by way of ESP?
Or plead with ghost
dripped vows
stay up all night to write
while you were up
scratching the post.
I am remiss for not
admitting in all
the languages
of the world
I clearly
do not speak
in Morris code
or maybe cats
just can't read.
I thought I had,
let me try again.
I was wrong.
friends never say
goodbye
but lovers
so often do.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
If you observe occurrences in Nature
(The way a stone ripples the water,
The arc of a cormorant descending toward its prey)
You will note a precision in the movements
Which is utterly Pythagorean in its pattern
(Not that the natural world is without its inconsistencies;
The progress of a conflagration, for example, seems entirely random.)
It would seem that such a thing is good;
No, more than that, entirely holy,
All that is necessary and sufficient to prove beyond doubt
That which is equally necessary and central to our belief:
A plan--His plan--which governs all things under the sun.
Such notions, I have found to my considerable dismay,
Do not sit well with viceroys and archbishops,
Who have a vested interest in the maintenance of certain mysteries
(To be fair, they are not evil or necessarily even impious;
They are men, nothing more or less,
And have to navigate perilous, unmapped straits
Between the secular and the sacred; at their appointed time,
They will have their own commissions and omissions to answer for.)
Nevertheless, none of us can escape the certainty
That the root of our faults can be found at our own doorway,
And I cannot deny that the attempt
To reduce God’s works to a schematic of formulas, diagrams and triads
And then, preening and squawking as a peacock,
Trumpet the results to the world
(As if the mystery of faith would be no more
Than a handful of equations and charts)
Is simply the manure of arrogance, the flotsam of sinful pride.
I have had, these past few weeks,
Considerable leisure to pray and reflect;
My thoughts have not drifted, curiously enough,
To the great and sweeping, the grand and all-encompassing
(Perhaps that is due to the whys and wherefores of my current predicament, Perhaps due to the narrow window of my enclosure),
But rather to the most pedestrian of things:
The clarion of the wind in the trees prior to a brief summer storm,
The lover’s dance of the hummingbird and the lupin,
And I am comforted (and, I confess, a bit amused)
By the notion that Our Savior may take a moment from his labors
To watch them as well.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
My words have substance, substance. Even when I don’t write in threes, threes, threes, threes. This pattern has a hold but I will escaped, I will stop, I will untrap my brain, I will leave the pattern, I will not repeat in groups of threes.
Policing my thoughts and creations the triad had its hold, hold, hold, hold, hold. Learning to unformat my brain because not every piece has a slot, slot. Now I let my Thoughts run free, thoughts run unchained, thoughts run chaotically, thoughts run organically.
I am giving up control, control, control, control. Triads don’t keep me safe, safe, safe, safe, safe. I have escaped the pattern. I have escaped the triad for good.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
*since no inspection from the untaming spectator
corruptor said, sinkhole may not have abduction
governing through the skills and power of possession
manipulation of resources gains from the uprising.
hence person of interest
created a Triads of crest
no more - no less
go for it, do mess
fence with a perimeter of staplings indulgence
keeping the dark secret floating by influence
bitter-sweet memories punctuated in by offense
higgledy-piggledy moments
of so true lies to dispense
sense of time and chime framing into a collage
not knowingly the insight of the other conspiring colleague
hot stuffy might get play by the edged ruler
*** of a golden word tightly encoded bolder
dense heritage is one of the hesitancy
privacy of those possibilities dare to disperse
inverse and reinvest the so called benefit of the doubt
sought out the figuring depth of outcome versus rehearse
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 3:39 PM UTC
I thought he was the one
I was wrong.
My parents told me I was singing the wrong song
That I needed to be strong
Not to hold on
But I didn’t listen.
I chased an impossible dream
I needed a different scheme.
My heart wanted to grasp someone,
Call them mine
But I couldn’t consign.
I broke him,
He broke me.
I wanted to flee,
These chains that held me
Why? Oh, why does this hurt?
I felt like dirt.
Sitting in my skirt
Waiting for him to arrive,
But he left me to survive
The wilderness haunting
And he didn’t mind flaunting,
That I needed him more than he needed me.
He knows he wasn’t the one, but he left me to figure out that by myself
He left my heart on top of the shelf.
For me to climb high trying to reach it,
But I was so lost that he wouldn’t preach it.
Why? Oh, why did he do this?
Why did he flirt?
When all he did was hurt.
Tell me why this happened?
Why did he flatten
My once beating heart
And rip it apart.
For the mistakes he made
That he will never aid
But yet he never triads
The love I had for him,
Back to me.
Tell me why; so I can understand, so I can heal, so I can learn.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
Like a nereid,
Acutely aware of how to cause a flow.
But I was mistaken,
Sprawled across the ground as
Dianthus grows.
She thought herself a hunter.
I wish I were prey.
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 6:58 AM UTC
You sentimental fool
You broke all the rules
And now you will have to suffer
For what was uncovered
Was better left alone
As grief is both a prison and a poem
A thousand words too long
You are a victim and i am a song
Concern yourself with reason
And you may do yourself real harm
We shall let the river guide us
And then we'll travel on
By moonlight we will follow
The water’s serpentine meandering
And allow our candles to burn out
Triads of dreams inevitably
Come unraveled at the seams
Until we learn to speak in tongues
Borrowed from our grandmothers
Some say that love’s escapades
Are too dangerous for their heart
So we've learned to stay
Far away from those people
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 5:03 PM UTC
vermillion and green
i see the unseen
bursting through trees
i am free
the light of infinity
so bright i can hardly breathe
pours through my eyes, in reflections
i find my soul
hallow, whole, and holy
in triads, we define
signs and sights
surrounded by love
all songs are sung, in darkness
opening your eyes
is a form of worshiping, light
that is justified
only by sight unseen
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC