In a frigid room
In a place I could not change
Out of carelessness
I snapped its handsome head off
to feel a passion for life.
Tag Archives: poem
Cinquain/LIV
listen
to the devout
voices, for they glisten
in the distance as they strike out
to shout
whispers of the divine
If there are whispers of the divine,
then surely they manifest themselves
in the curve of your spine, or perhaps,
through the curiosity of your
preoccupied face.
Even in the frost the tips of
her silver coat illuminate and
within the morning hush, her
steady purr sets the rhythm for
the day.
My breath slows as we stretch
towards the sun in the tabernacle
of our home.
*********************
These were the thoughts that prompted me
to get out of bed this morning. The image is
of my cat, Sorcha. It was taken in 2010, when
I lived in San Francisco. She is still with us.
silly poem
The longest noodle in the world
on polished fork was now just twirled.
This piece of pasta is so vast
that after lunch, it’s time to fast!
———————
Today’s writing post is intentionally light fare.
Mother Can Remember This
No one but mother can remember this.
No one except she, but she now is dead,
can testify about the light we miss.
A loveless breeze embraces my bent head
as lilies clad in wintertide touch stone.
These words were ripped from my chest to be read.
No one should journey through this world alone
or tether themselves to a bloodless form,
but feet almost collapse beneath old bone.
Yet, there is hope to find within the storm,
And surely we shall rise from the abyss
to go where hapless humans can transform.
That splendid dwelling where we cornered bliss
No one but mother can remember this.
convergence
Our home, which protects
us from society but not from
ourselves, acknowledges the
conversion of speech to action.
Four walls tumble down
every night, falling upon
cold, firm faces that have
not yet learned how to break.
They reassemble themselves
at dawn.
The heart that cannot remember
is condemned to repeat mistakes.
As a result, incongruous chambers
plug away despite the fact that their
desires will forever be at odds
with each other.
Five For My Eye: IV
Our Lady lights the way
as
shift is done, but before
the fun, four flagging
feet round the
corner and
stop under a streetlamp
for a smoke of
salvation.
Is that her apple
in my pocket?
Face to chin under a
shorn Pegasus,
heels scrape down
on cold curb in front of
the obsidian twin who
prowls nearby.
Fingertips graze
tough red skin
Damp bodies huddled
in doorways and
ecstasy hold down
the
night with hot
sloppy kisses; without
them this street would
vanish – but this is
only
conjecture.
Sweetness rolls over
parched lips.
What crime shall
come
to this place
when souls of
the city can
barely stand?
————–
This is the fourth installment in a series of five poems inspired by the photography of Constantine Brassaï.
Cinquain/LII
elite
athletes inject
strong steroids which mistreat
our trust; must we now redirect
respect?
************************
Recently, the doping allegations surrounding swimmer Park Tae-hwan have been a hot topic of conversation in the Korean news.
http://www.koreatimesus.com/effort-to-protect-park-tae-hwan-from-doping-allegations-slipping/
기다림/Waiting
난 라디오 음악에 맞춰 노래하면서 손가락으로
헝클어진 머리를 빗는다.
먼 곳에 천둥소리가 다시 들린다
꽃들은 이야기를 그만뒀다.
이제…비가 온다.
I comb my tangled hair with my fingers
while singing along to the radio.
Again, thunder is heard in the distance.
The flowers have ceased talking.
Now…the rain comes.
A Surging Season
Somewhere, but not here,
you stand with me amidst the
sangria stars of Biseulsan
in a season of surging.
With sealed eyes we attend to the
coordinated calls of gaudy magpies.
Hovering harbingers fill us with fear for
we do not understand their warning.
Then, you begin to sing Albert’s song.
His words are stitched into your mouth
yet you still stumble upon the shore.
I do not understand your warning.
I reach for your hand, but find you gone again,
soaring far and wide in search of glittering orbs.
sundry folly 