In the end, a wire coat hanger
formed an effective solution
not elegant,
then neither was my first car
to which it was inserted
in the spot where once
a snazzy electric antenna
would rise and fall
as the radio was activated.
The reception just adequate
for the inadequate speakers;
Halfords specials,
clumsily mounted
on the rear parcel shelf
bracketing the nodding dog.
Major Tom
fighting against
my grinding gear changes
on my way to Brighton
on four wheels
for the first time.
By Phan Tan Hai
Awake, waiting for the new year—
the wind steeped in tea’s fragrance;
past midnight, hair turned white,
a lifetime nearly gone.
I write upon the page
the ancient words of Scripture,
inviting you to read again,
to take a step across the shore.
Life is very short—
today we laugh and speak,
tomorrow we are ash and dust,
scattered by the wind across the sky.
To repay our parents’ grace,
nothing surpasses practice:
seeing Buddha in each flower,
smiling the smile of eternity.
Poems and prose—fine garments,
reflections in a mirror;
carriages, silks, and paintings—
all shimmering illusions.
Wine, beauty, pleasures—
leave them behind, my dear;
a wanderer’s life
passes like dust across the threshold.
Sit down with me,
soften your heart,
search within your breath
for spring’s silent fragrance.
Let go, my dear—
past and future both;
the Buddha teaches liberation
is found in this very moment.
Clumsily, I sketch
the wondrous mind of Nirva?a—
an endless spring,
where every day is spring.
--- Written in the first days of 2020
The sixty-two year old oak
Green tassels spring evokes
Tree removal company
Cut first limb clumsily
The fall to earth like my tears
Was totally unawares
A reminder there's a time
When all living gets past prime
We are two graves now, love
Two pretty little things
Surrounded by officials
Their lawyers, their police
Must be a party nearby
Drunk dancers over here
Stamp clumsily upon us
Each laughs at their own jokes
We couldn’t care less
We had it all, and more
And many, many more
What they will never know
And never scrutinize
To check us out they should
Guess even vaguely about
The subject they expect to see
But they are unaware
They wouldn’t know the matter
For us they don’t exist
As we for them, so I suggest
To take it as it is
The sun will shine again
Our trees will grow up tall.
A throat tickling ambience
of chili garlic,
Mung Bean paste
and bottles of oyster sauce.
Clumsily, I knock over a glass jar
of curry powder.
A choking mushroom cloud
erupts.
The lady at the cash register
watches me jump backwards
flapping at the spicy miasma.
She is sixteen going on fifty.
Her disgusted frown speaks volumes.
I apologize, offer to pay -
eyes burning.
What I want now is a cheeseburger,
very mild cheddar,
definitely no mustard,
no sesame seeds, pickles
or onions.
I. What I love
I love my small garden full of fragrant blooms,
Where falling sunbeams paint dew drops into gold,
Where ladybirds wing, bees buzz and shadow zooms.
In the morn, it is a beauty to behold.
Flowers display themselves as in a pageant.
Dandy butterflies come and kiss them gallant.
Walking through my garden in the light of day,
Is a pleasure, making me forget life's fray.
2. What I hate
I detest a house in utter disorder,
With closed windows and doors trapping sultry air,
Where clothes and shoes are dumped in every corner,
Where all things are clumsily strewn here and there.
A house with no trace of aesthetics or art,
Where love is lacking to brighten up the heart,
Where no friends or guests are let in through the door,
With empty silence that feels wild as a roar.
The man who has no imagination
has no wings…
- Muhammad Ali
…………………..
They waddle clumsily
on webbed feet not fit
for treading sand
and their folded wings
just add weight to impair
their already awkward gait.
Pelicans are made
for air and water, being
landbound leaves them
deprived of grace.
Sometimes I flounder
like a grounded pelican
on the mud flats of myself.
Dragging my body along
I make for a sorry sight
until I remember I have
the power to imagine wings
and then, with perfect grace,
I take flight.
Mother’s Daughter
As they delivered you into the world upside-down, they wiped you clean
With steady hands that did not shake with the thunder of the firmament
Laying you upon my chest, each gazing into the other’s grey-blue irises full of
Wonderment, I believe we knew each other since the universe came to be with a bang
Of equal intensity
Your cries, ever moving me clumsily from my place in our house, singing of hunger and distress
Send me on a mission to quell your discomfort
On a sleepless night, in the cold of autumn, I take you out wrapped in arms of woolen blankets
Knitted by an old woman’s gnarled hands whose name I have forgotten
I present you to the dulled light of the ancient stars of the universe understanding you will never belong to just me
You take your place amongst time and space and the pulse of the elements with
A howl not unlike that of the wild wolves of the mountains
And observe as you set yourself free to join your brethren of the shared galaxy.
Clairaudient Claire clambered to cling to her cliquish closeted clan
Clutching cloistered clues, clarifying a clumsily closed clergyman.
When death comes,
He will find me with a cup of tea,
Enjoying the summer evening rains.
He will find me with my favourite book,
Turned to the page I like the most.
He will find me with the radio on,
Playing a song very well a retro now.
He will find me in my mother's dress,
Draped clumsily on a whim.
He will find me with my father's pen,
And a blank notebook in the lap.
He will find me with our wedding photos by the bedside table,
And his cologne still saturating the sheets decades later.
He will find me with the memories of our children,
And the last conversation we had a month ago.
He will find me with anticipation and relief,
With a smile and perhaps a tear or two.
Death will find me willing and ready,
And a little nervous to meet the familiar 'ol friend.
Written: March 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
*****************
After the rain, the air smells musty and moist,
and smoke swirls clumsily upward from chimneys,
as they float away, the leaves crackle and rattle.
Mulled wine soothes the spirit on cold nights,
our eyes feast on the blazing fire as the sun sets.
A great Day
This morning, although Monday has a jubilant
Feel, the wind is light, the winter sun warms
The balcony, as seen sitting inside looking out
This a day to remember running on a domestic
A farm landscape with a pair of dogs upsetting
The sheep see cows clumsily running without
The reason other than it is a beautiful day
It is a day to remember that childhood was not
All misery and poverty
Yes, a day when the old man gets up from his
Chair and dance a tango with his youth
I traipse my fingers delicately across spiralled letters of each written word and dated times
The clumsily transitioned Thoughts are transferred on to pages full of Passion and expressive rhyme.
Splattered,stained and ink spilled journal, with it's torn ridge spine ,misspellings and crooked lines ,
Reading the moment a daydreaming story teller and her poetic adventures began, such beginnings were mine
I operate on a humble acre of song grass.
Recently its slowly filling with stone and sand.
Once per lifetime, a vague law emerges from the brine.
Growling, "childhood shall come to an end".
Stones hover clumsily over flesh and bone.
Life is painfully precious; living has become voracious.
On this lonely acre of broken time and sand.
My watch required a battery;
My husband took it to
A brand-new shoe repair, whose sign
Said that’s one thing they do.
He called me on the phone, upset,
To ask me if I knew
That the watch’s crystal had a crack;
I said it wasn’t true.
It seems the owner, clumsily,
Committed this snafu
But claimed that’s how he found it
And twelve dollars now was due.
My husband took the watch and scrammed
Before some punches flew.
He didn’t pay a cent
And left the owner there to stew.
The lesson to be learned is this –
We never have a clue
If we can trust a stranger,
Who may sometimes turn the screw.
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