Getting Ready for Another Journey

When high tide
Takes full swing
At the established banks
Just before autumn
And kids have started
Thinking back to school

If one has begun
To figure out part
Of what it means
To live at the top
Of the food chain

How to shoulder
The great responsibility
And make the most of
The many incredible
Opportunities

With tarragon scent
Heavy on your hands
And the shrimp
Well butterflied
A 7/11 coffee close by
And all around the
Thick perfume of the late
Summer afternoon

Then come and sit down
Put your feet up
And relax in the shade
It’s time to begin
A new journey
This time it’s The Book
Of Enlightenment
That beckons

In a calm frame of mind
Without the least bit of fear
Alas not everyone is up to the
Task of heading aloft
With clouds for wings

But that is precisely
Where we are bound
Together with
The brave Monkey King

And to travel with him
We must likewise
Board our cloud ship
Steady in the bow
Let loose the sheets
And unfurl the sails
Today being the first day
We found ourselves
Alone and together
And thus we learned
How to sail

Ode to Zhuang Zhou

Doing my stretching
One rep at a time
When one eye falls
On the reflection
Of my shadow
There at the mirror’s edge
Doing its own stretching too

What my shadow sees
When it stands by the mirror
Is standing next to me
A most peculiar thing
Only a few steps in between
I wonder what it thinks
Looking at me

Friend of my friend
My blurry doppelganger at the gym
The reflection of my shadow
Now giving me attitude
With its own feminine side too

Or is it an even bigger
Cubs’ fan than me
A burly shaggier beast
Prone to dozing intermittently
Falling deeply asleep
Then arousing itself with a shudder
And suddenly scurrying
To catch up with me

As the correspondence
Between waking and dreaming
May feel all the greater
While appearing less distinct
So I find things stand
With me and my shadow's reflection
As each of us keeps stretching
For a part of itself that
Remains out of reach

Small Poem for a Small Planet

If you think it’s time
To kick off the traces
Of history

Just remember
That sleaze is
A hearty perennial
That grows in
Perpetual
Abundance

Whereas potatoes
And eggplant
Like to grow together
Very very much
And strawberries
In short thick clumps

These being just a few
Of the many things
You need to know

If you’re going
To make the most
Of the small difference

Between merely
Letting things go
And learning to 
Prosper from seed

Memorial Day (thinking of Mingy)

The poplar and the willow
Don’t have a thing on you
No sirree Mingy

Not in that narrow little spot
Between the cherry tree
And the Sach’s domain

Nor the little sparrow that
Flits just behind the crow

It’s Memorial Day weekend and
Already the potatoes need hoeing

Up and down the creek
Summer has just begun

A south-easterly breeze
Heralds the warming trend

Which to your grave
Shall bring a profusion of zinnias
And anemones
My dear friend

In memory
Of your sapient spirit
And distinctive
Dignified being

Drawing by Peter Rippon

A Solitary Goose

Usually I don't post translations of another poet's work on my blog. But every once in a while I make an exception. I guess it's when another poet's voice moves me so much that I feel need to make something of it my own

This is a poem by Du Fu written as he sailed down the Yangtze in the year 768 or 769 shortly before he died


A solitary goose
Neither drinks nor pecks
But flies in search
Of its long lost flock

Who will remember
This lonely wanderer
Set against the backdrop
Of a lowering sky

Gazing into the distance
And pondering its distress
You almost heave
An involuntary sigh

Amidst the cries
Of the loons and terns
Everywhere so confused

P.F.C. Martin Henry Levey

The things I meant
To tell my father but didn’t
Like the tastiest bits
Left on the plate
For one bad reason or another
Such matters left unsaid
Until it’s almost too late
Are among the reasons
I come to see you today
My dear cousin Marty
A private first class
Like none other
Part cousin part uncle
Part brother

To look into the unfaded truth
That pervades your blue eyes
I can’t imagine any other color
And finally in your presence
There’s no room for doubt
About the portent of
The nurse’s unhurried and
Skillful ministrations
For your impending blind date
As the cancer and strokes
Have almost run the table

In the white bag I brought
A few things of course
A red Gerber daisy
On the nightstand reposes
A plain slice of Junior’s cheesecake
In the fridge now waits

If your eyes were to open
As the moment draws near
I have not the slightest idea
What I’d manage to say
But just to sit near your
Lingering frame
With bruised skin
Pulled loosely over it
Yet still refusing to yield
Its most succulent part
That being your
Untrammeled heart
Every day in acknowledgment
Of its entanglement and
Consanguinity with
Those in close proximity
So liberal of spirit
You will never be undone

Thus tongue-tied
At your bedside I reach
For your hand and feel
It’s quickening pulse
So tongue tied or not
I behold your fading warmth
As it runs a final course
Through the veins
Of my very own body

The Leaves of Man

That words be
The leaves of man
Is a thought we struggle
To understand beyond
What words themselves
Permit us to know

That they display
More than a single side
And flutter in a breeze
Ever so gentle and slow
And always strive
To absorb more light

And whether on vellum
Or parchment inscribed
Or leather bound
Or bagged in plastic
Stacked at the curbside

How they ultimately
Find best use when
As good mulch they
Help other words
In good turn to grow