seasons
of illusions
offer ample reasons
to float towards dark delusion’s
sly skins
Category Archives: poetry
In the Absence of Monsters
In the absence of monsters,
Aquila’s angels beam down
upon soft cheeks resting atop
mother’s shoulder.
A flying eagle soars through
slender stems carrying golden
garments of majesty.
In the absence of monsters,
we cannot possibly conceive
of the
pear blossoms reclining at
the end of the rainbow.
It is the autumn of needles.
Joyous Journey
Mammoth mobs
Of
Neighborly
Trees bestow shelter
In
Vertical
Altars of
Green glossy branches which
Assemble to
Nurture
Triumphant travels.
Our Future
Lonely hearts bloom in old country homes
where rice wine once flowed through
uneventful existences; now, sophisticated
city wombs decline rural lips while sharp
mouths lament of lost traditions
beneath a blushing strawberry moon.
New paths need new feet.
Life is hard on dusty roads of discontent;
bright lights beckon young ladies with
promises of luxury and liberty as brothers
stay behind to reap a hollow harvest in
an era of transplantation and transmutation.
Would-be wives stretch for the stars above
forsaken farmers who dig their heels in,
waiting for clock hands to turn back.
New paths need new feet.
From foreign ports, fair faces appear to
work in familial gardens, seeking a better
life within sunrise’s coveted serenity.
Shall these hopeful flowers take root in
the domestic fold? – Or, will their
petals wither with the lavender ladies?
New paths need new feet.
Before Death
sleep slides down faces in the month of
migration as pledges are played;
spotted rags of blush and blue
promenade past plants with
ocellar orange oars,
ere clinging to
broken strings
before
death
Daguerreotypes
What happened to these eyes of long ago?
…full moons shining from faces of antiquity…
They search me for answers.
I do the same.
A glimpse of truth from the forgotten…
….a barefoot boy with a tear stained face
….a blind crone with elephant skin
….a somber New Orleans prostitute
….a stern broom beard
Who were they?
hopers?
dreamers and schemers?
I am the same – no different. searching and hungering….
….living a life
I know your dreams
….you are not forgotten
Cinquain/XXV
this pit
in which we sit
prunes me with wounding grit;
how can we restore peace and quit
this skit?
cereza/cherry/버찌
mi amor
es una cereza estropeada
blanda y carnosa
manchará los dedos
maneje con mucho cuidado
my love is an
overripe cherry
soft and fleshy
it will stain your fingers
handle it with great care
내 사랑은
너무 익은 버찌이다
부드럽고 살찐 것이다
손가락이 얼룩지게 될 것이다
신중히 처리해야 한다
————–
I wrote this poem 10 years ago when I was studying Spanish in college. I found it on an old hard drive today and decided to translate it into Korean. Apologies if either the Spanish or Korean translation is way off.
Arnaldo Bassini
He rises with the matins bell
as he has done every morning
for the last thirty three years.
Warm feet on cold stone confirm
once again that slumber has
been broken.
In the darkness, wax papered
hands assemble to solicit
undeserved graces; cracked
lips mumble and stumble for
forgiveness in a time when
Babylonian bones stained in sin
seek solace within the white lily of
the flaming heart.
Shadows of the World
Fingers fashion fictive forms
with a mirror wrapped in rust.
After salty sable storms
her lovely face collects fine dust.
With a mirror wrapped in rust,
she spies an arresting reddish road.
Her lovely face collects fine dust;
Her heavy heart is bleakly bowed.
She spies an arresting reddish road;
Such a mighty majestic knight!
Her heavy heart is bleakly bowed.
in a fearful feverish fright.
Such a mighty majestic knight,
after salty sable storms!
In a fearful feverish fright,
fingers fashion fictive forms.
sundry folly 