"yokohama" poems - Hello Poetry

If I was a king of Asia I would give you all the gold there is But I'm not even prince of Persia, all I have is love and dreams Let me show you land of legends, land of honeymoon and rising sun I am not as rich as Ali Baba, but I promise we'll be having fun I'll take you to Bali the gem of Java Sea Then we'll go on to safari a little south of Abu Dhabi I'll take you to Maldives to swim in coral reefs We'll enjoy the sweet papaya on the islands of Pattaya I'll show you lake Baikal, Tibet and Taj Mahal We'll see Macao, Yokohama, Hanoi, Jeddah, Jaipur, Jakarta I'll take you to Dubai, Dushanbe and Mumbai We'll spend some starry nights in yurts near the city of Yakutsk I’ll take you to Tashkent where melons got their scent We will taste all sorts of apples in the city of Almaty I’ll take you to Beirut we'll go nuts on dried fruits And the coffee with vanilla we can try it in Manilla I'll take you to Kashgar to shop at old bazaar Then we'll fly a magic carpet to the markets of Qatar We'll see ruins of Karakorum the old capital of Moguls Then we'll go to Kathmandu and then Karachi and Kabul We'll discover caves with treasures, make three wishes all at once All at once will turn to a fairy tale, like in one and thousand nights Let me show you feast of colors, take you cross the dunes in caravans Even if I don't look like Alladin, I sure know a thing about romance I'll take you to Taipei to see its lovely bay We will sip on Coca Cola on the silky sands of Goa I'll take you to Shanghai where towers touch the sky And the best of architecture we will see in precious Petra We'll go to Ashgabat, Bishkek, Busan, Baghdad We will see Great Wall of China and Cambodian Angkor Wat We'll see the Everest, mount Fuji, Gobi Desert And it's certainly my pleasure to take you all around Asia!

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Apr 3, 2022

Apr 3, 2022 at 10:07 PM UTC

aidar-omar

Song of Asia

If I was a king of Asia I would give you all the gold there is But I'm not even prince of Persia, all I have is love and dreams Let me show you land of legends, land of honeymoon and rising sun I am not as rich as Ali Baba, but I promise we'll be having fun I'll take you to Bali the gem of Java Sea Then we'll go on to safari a little south of Abu Dhabi I'll take you to Maldives to swim in coral reefs We'll enjoy the sweet papaya on the islands of Pattaya I'll show you lake Baikal, Tibet and Taj Mahal We'll see Macao, Yokohama, Hanoi, Jeddah, Jaipur, Jakarta I'll take you to Dubai, Dushanbe and Mumbai We'll spend some starry nights in yurts near the city of Yakutsk I’ll take you to Tashkent where melons got their scent We will taste all sorts of apples in the city of Almaty I’ll take you to Beirut we'll go nuts on dried fruits And the coffee with vanilla we can try it in Manilla I'll take you to Kashgar to shop at old bazaar Then we'll fly a magic carpet to the markets of Qatar We'll see ruins of Karakorum the old capital of Moguls Then we'll go to Kathmandu and then Karachi and Kabul We'll discover caves with treasures, make three wishes all at once All at once will turn to a fairy tale, like in one and thousand nights Let me show you feast of colors, take you cross the dunes in caravans Even if I don't look like Alladin, I sure know a thing about romance I'll take you to Taipei to see its lovely bay We will sip on Coca Cola on the silky sands of Goa I'll take you to Shanghai where towers touch the sky And the best of architecture we will see in precious Petra We'll go to Ashgabat, Bishkek, Busan, Baghdad We will see Great Wall of China and Cambodian Angkor Wat We'll see the Everest, mount Fuji, Gobi Desert And it's certainly my pleasure to take you all around Asia!

32

I’m so homesick. I miss the sound of the language, the feel of it…I miss the adventure, the beauty, the kindness, the presence of belonging. I miss long city walks at night, when the skyscrapers could be seen for miles and throw lights on the pavement. I miss the subway, the simplicity of walking from one place to another and watching the city whip past me as I stand, humming quietly as the rail tracks bump underneath my feet. I miss the feel of the language reverberate on my tongue and hear it chiming in my ears. I miss the generosity and rich culture. I miss the humility and simplicity; the ambition and indisputable threshold for righteousness. I miss the strength, the willingness of an ear, patience of an oak tree and the composure of respect. I miss the jagged horizons of mountains loom with calming familiarity with spectacular array of greens; and I miss the way the sky flower into a spectacular shade of pink at the break of dawn, speckled with yellow and deep orange. I miss gazing at the ocean, admiring the restlessness and salty wilderness I find inexplicable. I haven’t seen the sea in over a year…I used to see it almost everyday. I miss the delicacies, the delicious combination of rice, fish, vegetables, and more. I miss the mesmerizing subtleties in the culture, in the system and way of life which proves to be far from perfect, yet which is one I belong in. I miss Japan…Tokyo, Yokohama, Iwakuni, Aomori, Hokkaido, everywhere. I miss my home.

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Mar 24, 2016

Mar 24, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC

decem

Letter to My Homesick Self

I’m so homesick. I miss the sound of the language, the feel of it…I miss the adventure, the beauty, the kindness, the presence of belonging. I miss long city walks at night, when the skyscrapers could be seen for miles and throw lights on the pavement. I miss the subway, the simplicity of walking from one place to another and watching the city whip past me as I stand, humming quietly as the rail tracks bump underneath my feet. I miss the feel of the language reverberate on my tongue and hear it chiming in my ears. I miss the generosity and rich culture. I miss the humility and simplicity; the ambition and indisputable threshold for righteousness. I miss the strength, the willingness of an ear, patience of an oak tree and the composure of respect. I miss the jagged horizons of mountains loom with calming familiarity with spectacular array of greens; and I miss the way the sky flower into a spectacular shade of pink at the break of dawn, speckled with yellow and deep orange. I miss gazing at the ocean, admiring the restlessness and salty wilderness I find inexplicable. I haven’t seen the sea in over a year…I used to see it almost everyday. I miss the delicacies, the delicious combination of rice, fish, vegetables, and more. I miss the mesmerizing subtleties in the culture, in the system and way of life which proves to be far from perfect, yet which is one I belong in. I miss Japan…Tokyo, Yokohama, Iwakuni, Aomori, Hokkaido, everywhere. I miss my home.

1

Un hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida estuvo en la batalla del Marne cuando fui herido en el pecho. Otro hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida, ocurrió en un maremoto de Yokohama, del cual salvé milagrosamente, refugiado bajo el alero de una tienda de lacas. Y otro hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida acontece cuando duermo de día. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida ha estado en mi mayor soledad. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida fue mi prisión en una cárcel del Perú. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida es el haber sorprendido de perfil a mi padre. Y el ultimo hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida no ha llegado todavía.

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1.4k

César Vallejo

El momento más grave de la vida

Un hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida estuvo en la batalla del Marne cuando fui herido en el pecho. Otro hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida, ocurrió en un maremoto de Yokohama, del cual salvé milagrosamente, refugiado bajo el alero de una tienda de lacas. Y otro hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida acontece cuando duermo de día. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida ha estado en mi mayor soledad. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida fue mi prisión en una cárcel del Perú. Y otro dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida es el haber sorprendido de perfil a mi padre. Y el ultimo hombre dijo: -El momento más grave de mi vida no ha llegado todavía.

14

I did not want to write a poem titled obituary because I was worried that it would become about you. I did not want to read a poem about you out loud because I did not want anything that I wrote for you to fly away from me like you could have flown away from me, but this poem isn’t about you anymore, it’s about me. This poem is about everything I could have written my own obituary about. I was made out of the kind of smiles that show your teeth and I was always made out of the kind of skin that nobody thought they were going to need to turn into metaphors. and my scars are as pink and white as anyone else’s scars, my bruises don’t look like flowers, they look like tiny blood vessels under my skin have burst. I do not want my obituary to say that I was a valued member of a community I did not feel safe in, I wrote this poem as I dissolved in a hotel room in yokohama, I wrote my obituary once on a bus ride home from school, I wrote a suicide note on the back of a US history assignment that I never turned in, I write my own obituary once a month, sometimes once a week. I am not broken. I am not sad, not shattered. I am building an altar inside of bones that don’t usually have poems written about them. I wrote down all the words I couldn’t pronounce without breathing, and I wrote it in ink but it may as well have been blood.

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Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC

crashchord

Obituary

I did not want to write a poem titled obituary because I was worried that it would become about you. I did not want to read a poem about you out loud because I did not want anything that I wrote for you to fly away from me like you could have flown away from me, but this poem isn’t about you anymore, it’s about me. This poem is about everything I could have written my own obituary about. I was made out of the kind of smiles that show your teeth and I was always made out of the kind of skin that nobody thought they were going to need to turn into metaphors. and my scars are as pink and white as anyone else’s scars, my bruises don’t look like flowers, they look like tiny blood vessels under my skin have burst. I do not want my obituary to say that I was a valued member of a community I did not feel safe in, I wrote this poem as I dissolved in a hotel room in yokohama, I wrote my obituary once on a bus ride home from school, I wrote a suicide note on the back of a US history assignment that I never turned in, I write my own obituary once a month, sometimes once a week. I am not broken. I am not sad, not shattered. I am building an altar inside of bones that don’t usually have poems written about them. I wrote down all the words I couldn’t pronounce without breathing, and I wrote it in ink but it may as well have been blood.

1

Christmas 1968 the whole hospital hurt. my bed hugged a corner and the ward ached away from me. endlessly away. I remember Nurse Merz, who saved my leg, and Fender, who lost his. mine was a small world. we had clean sheets. no one wanted to **** us at night. it was Christmas. after rounds, the medics brought us shots of whiskey in dosage cups. far away to the south, the hills were swallowing people up. I almost slept without dreaming. (106th. Army Evacuation Hospital Kishine Barracks Yokohama, Japan)

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Feb 2, 2010

Feb 2, 2010 at 10:29 AM UTC

norm-milliken

Christmas 1968

Christmas 1968 the whole hospital hurt. my bed hugged a corner and the ward ached away from me. endlessly away. I remember Nurse Merz, who saved my leg, and Fender, who lost his. mine was a small world. we had clean sheets. no one wanted to **** us at night. it was Christmas. after rounds, the medics brought us shots of whiskey in dosage cups. far away to the south, the hills were swallowing people up. I almost slept without dreaming. (106th. Army Evacuation Hospital Kishine Barracks Yokohama, Japan)

28

A single day contained so many Journeys and the Stories as if they were meant to meet. And Baltimore, you were the humble host of all the Reunions. Belgium, Filling our stomachs and the time apart Memories came to life and we smiled — Together Sydney, Talking to random seagulls between our conversations I found a feather given by a fearsome friend Geneva, Learning how to pronounce a foreign word— Affogato I imagined this is how life should taste Yokohama, Making fun of the sushi places hidden in the brick walls My heart secretly traveled back home Istanbul, Discovering the colorful lamps I thanked for kindnesses sent from different directions Unexpectedly, All the journeys took us back to the 5th grade, picking up our favorites at a candy shop — and I promised never to follow any strangers! Baltimore, You’ve taught me how it feels to grow up. not being somebody else, but sowing seeds in our moments, good days and bad days, — just like we gave a name and fell in Love with every single corner of the Town. Baltimore, Let’s do it again.

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Feb 9, 2016

Feb 9, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC

Tuana

Baltimore — poem as a token of the journey

A single day contained so many Journeys and the Stories as if they were meant to meet. And Baltimore, you were the humble host of all the Reunions. Belgium, Filling our stomachs and the time apart Memories came to life and we smiled — Together Sydney, Talking to random seagulls between our conversations I found a feather given by a fearsome friend Geneva, Learning how to pronounce a foreign word— Affogato I imagined this is how life should taste Yokohama, Making fun of the sushi places hidden in the brick walls My heart secretly traveled back home Istanbul, Discovering the colorful lamps I thanked for kindnesses sent from different directions Unexpectedly, All the journeys took us back to the 5th grade, picking up our favorites at a candy shop — and I promised never to follow any strangers! Baltimore, You’ve taught me how it feels to grow up. not being somebody else, but sowing seeds in our moments, good days and bad days, — just like we gave a name and fell in Love with every single corner of the Town. Baltimore, Let’s do it again.

33

~ i recall the ward, smell of antiseptic and new paint blended, with the stench of dried on bandages, the smell of rotting flesh, the cries of men too old to cry, faces now, too burned for tears, could only wonder why. the clang of stainless steel bowls that held the closest thing to soothing, unquenchably thirsty skin. for these, souls sent off to war, though i was but a boy, my father, was a preacher, sent to save these men from hell... i knew already then hell was... a place already known, seen and felt; and flames... these men had walked. and when asked to pray, believe you me, pray i did, that these images, and these men... would all go away. ~ *post script. some chuckle when i, born in 1960, tell them i remember Vietnam. yet i still weep when i remember. Vietnam was to this young boy watching formations of fighter jets taking off for a battlefield he could not know; accompanying his father to visit with and pray for the GI’s in the burn ward of Sagami-Ono’s US Army Hospital near Yokohama, on the main island of Japan, a few minute’s drive from what we then called home. the sights, sounds and smells of Vietnam are etched forever, without having ever set foot on it’s soil. my five siblings have no such recollection, leading me to believe... either they were never invited or... their prayers were answered.*

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Feb 3, 2017

Feb 3, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC

se-reimer

burn

~ i recall the ward, smell of antiseptic and new paint blended, with the stench of dried on bandages, the smell of rotting flesh, the cries of men too old to cry, faces now, too burned for tears, could only wonder why. the clang of stainless steel bowls that held the closest thing to soothing, unquenchably thirsty skin. for these, souls sent off to war, though i was but a boy, my father, was a preacher, sent to save these men from hell... i knew already then hell was... a place already known, seen and felt; and flames... these men had walked. and when asked to pray, believe you me, pray i did, that these images, and these men... would all go away. ~ *post script. some chuckle when i, born in 1960, tell them i remember Vietnam. yet i still weep when i remember. Vietnam was to this young boy watching formations of fighter jets taking off for a battlefield he could not know; accompanying his father to visit with and pray for the GI’s in the burn ward of Sagami-Ono’s US Army Hospital near Yokohama, on the main island of Japan, a few minute’s drive from what we then called home. the sights, sounds and smells of Vietnam are etched forever, without having ever set foot on it’s soil. my five siblings have no such recollection, leading me to believe... either they were never invited or... their prayers were answered.*

41

It was summer but it was pouring rain for 2 days the weather was very windy & chill to the bones &, anyway, it’s too warm out for polar bears I think that's like a metaphor for something There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth by Nietzsche I didn't know why this quote kept playing in my head when I was exploring around little streets in Yokohama but it reminded me of someone Someone I never met. Was it a good time? Yes. I wanna go back take me back To go out to the shops, the same as seeing the art work The people there, are extraordinary, interested in me what is expressed, I wanted to spend my life in order to continue to touch it. The same feeling even when you are in what, a forest I want to watch with my whole body & soul. Every moment Good for the viewer. Not compared to anything & also Because after all the ****** thing that can be perceived in comparison. Because the people there is a memory, & because it is equal to words & memories, But even more difficult. Reset as much as possible, always looking at the zero of the eye I trust Japan's tap water more than I trust people, I said - as I drink it from a glass. Why is everyone keep asking me so many ******* questions? Let me do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want You're torturing me.

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Aug 22, 2016

Aug 22, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC

more-aina

I Trust Japan's Tap Water More Than I Trust People,

It was summer but it was pouring rain for 2 days the weather was very windy & chill to the bones &, anyway, it’s too warm out for polar bears I think that's like a metaphor for something There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth by Nietzsche I didn't know why this quote kept playing in my head when I was exploring around little streets in Yokohama but it reminded me of someone Someone I never met. Was it a good time? Yes. I wanna go back take me back To go out to the shops, the same as seeing the art work The people there, are extraordinary, interested in me what is expressed, I wanted to spend my life in order to continue to touch it. The same feeling even when you are in what, a forest I want to watch with my whole body & soul. Every moment Good for the viewer. Not compared to anything & also Because after all the ****** thing that can be perceived in comparison. Because the people there is a memory, & because it is equal to words & memories, But even more difficult. Reset as much as possible, always looking at the zero of the eye I trust Japan's tap water more than I trust people, I said - as I drink it from a glass. Why is everyone keep asking me so many ******* questions? Let me do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want You're torturing me.

24

Miss Flairity made her rarity by knocking whose shoes were Flannerys' as it alleviated muscle toes in pajamas that their trilogy made living in Yokohama with brass this mistress to rebuild her brand legal

0

Mar 22, 2019

Mar 22, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC

poetman

Miss Flarity

Miss Flairity made her rarity by knocking whose shoes were Flannerys' as it alleviated muscle toes in pajamas that their trilogy made living in Yokohama with brass this mistress to rebuild her brand legal

17

your skin is the colour of yokohama honey and you look at me with eyes as amber as liquid luck could be your lips melt against mine like parfaits in santa monica summer you look good and i bet you taste just as good too

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Nov 29, 2018

Nov 29, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC

huangya

fine dining

your skin is the colour of yokohama honey and you look at me with eyes as amber as liquid luck could be your lips melt against mine like parfaits in santa monica summer you look good and i bet you taste just as good too

5