Hulijing

Her tail, like a skulk of royal scepters,

undulates seductively back and forth,

luring fresh-faced boys and seasoned hands

into her welcoming, deceitful arms.

Juggling ten thousand devotions,

inevitably she will fall in the fullness of time,

never again to dash over paddies 

flying to steal the freedom of men.

A Meditation

From the minute we’re born,
to the moment we die,
our lives are a fistful of unanswered whys.

The loss of a loved one, through distance or death.
The passions we feel that steal our breath.

The stars way above us, both hidden and seen.
The seabed below us and all in between.

From the minute we wake,
til the moment we sleep, 
we ponder the secrets that providence keeps.

Summer

Basil-laced strawberries swim in two quarts of water,
replacing yesterday’s battered, bloated limes with grace.
Tonight, they too, will be discarded like a pair of
sweaty socks, surrendering in defeat.

Skaters, daters, bikers, and hikers
weave freely in and out of one another, stuffing
the last of the capsizing light into their hungry souls,
before Hrímfaxi’s hoary mane hovers above the horizon.

 

Twilight in the Tulips

The sun decamps as we march here.
You lend your heart, I lend my ear.
Rich tangerine and scarlet dames
command the field with docile flames.
As we are humbled by their grace,
lush lilac looms on heaven’s face.

The moon reports as we halt here.
I lend my heart, you lend your ear.
The ladies’ gowns have been concealed
and diamonds bright have been revealed.
Your mouth unfurls; I see a smile.
Let’s linger now, for just a while.

Ocean Ode

The weight of those black keys in this palm-sized bingata
pouch never amounted to very much, yet they opened
worlds more abundant than Witwatersrand.

Gazing at such delicate flowers, dyed in orchid and amethyst,
our all-too-short afternoons waltz upon my mind; I smile at the
memory of the blithe and innocent spirit that you so lovingly
shared with me.

An empty floral pouch, coconut and pear lip balm (only used once),
Band-Aids (only used twice), antibacterial hand wipes, and alcohol
prep pads – fragments of a broken bond, bespoken by no one.

Stranger and Citizen

Limber limbs suspended in time – such grace is revelation.
Acutely aware of all the wonder that surrounds us,
my mind willingly turns inward.
Everything and everyone – stranger and citizen alike – is poetry.
Versets…haikus…sonnets,
epic narratives, only known by a select few,
or possibly by thousands who worship in earnest.

Even with vats of black plashes,
I cannot record them all.
My ink will run dry
and my memory banks shall prove insufficient.
It would prove to be a risible endeavor.

And yet, I ache for the loss,
with no anodyne in sight.