The Village On the Water Iii
Shallow-pitched tiled rooftops sparkle vividly
When lavishly sprinkled with needle-shaped grains
Of shattered mutton-fat nephrite;
There, clinging forlornly against the hanging grey
Smoke, tinged with barely noticeable trace of mauve,
Dawdling lazily in the stilled air, residue from
Remnant of mist inclined to prolong and hesitate;
Continues to resist...almost as if were a
Wearisome, overstaying guest too reluctant to leave.
Our snug, rested houses: how they are adapted to speak
So ably of themselves...such a fulfilling contentment;
Within, securely ensconced, crammed lives fully
Busied with common endeavour.
Could an ideal be any more perfect than this?
Then recalling the words of Master Kong:-
"Everything has beauty...but not everyone sees it."
Which, undeniably, is very true. They who do not see
The appealing loveliness and intrinsic functionality of
Purposeful lines, are, indeed, the lesser for the want
Of what, in essence...is nothing more than a learned
Awareness.
At these precious moments ones beset spirit
Is reinforced against the day's coming labours;
He is further encouraged by thoughts of his
Fussing wife attending her dutiful stove;
Her ostentatious lips, shapely hips made wider by
Childbirth...
For is this not the most natural function of
All women?
Apart from menial, repetitive tasks of course.
Laozi full well knew the supposed crimes of
A woman.
He would tell you to only beat her with a stick
As thick as your middle finger.
"Not so hard! you fool", he would have said.
"Do you not need her for more work?"
"Besides...you might break a good stick".
However, one must be cautioned to try and remember:-
"If there is beauty in the person...there will
Be harmony in the house".
But I still fully intend to keep my stick!
It is slim and supple and is pleasingly fashioned
In the right-made way;
A willowy semblance of a virtuous wife in
Former flush of nubile youth;
A sharp reminder for the values of obedience and
Honour...would that she should ever forget.
Sun breaks! Hoisted square canvas.
Soon, an irregular blob reduced to a tiny speck
Charting its way between glimmer and glint;
At times, sliding out of view into shimmering and
Dazzling from low blinding glare -- hiding and confusing;
Then, flashing sunbeams suddenly revealing up...
Before skipping and darting away,
As gleefully as a loosed hare, across
The glassed, hollowing emptiness of this vast,
Reverberating, convex-sphere;
And everyone his own favoured place for each
Changeable day of each changing season.
Distant shouts. Excitable voices. Men busily employed
At their daily work.
My own drawing net boiling and frantic with the
Bumping from darting, silvered fish;
For it is certain that all peasants are born to work...
Just as the oxen is born to haul: for is this not
Our rightfully inherited karma?
Sun Tzu instructs us that a man has to
Willingly accept his station in life;
Knowing what is required of his own situation
Is to find reassurance in the heavens.
And in Celestial Heaven the Jade Emperor counting
The passing of each mortal life...
As if they were spent, detached leaves dropping
From the Sacred Peach Tree.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2020
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