III
Who is this wanderer come out of the desert
well nourished and with muddied feet?
Who is this angel come down from heaven
to walk this earth for you to meet?
Who knows this stranger come from the past
to test your courage and love, so blind?
Don’t send her off alone, waterless,
give her your bed and homemade wine.
Let her rest gentle in your comforts
for the true pilgrim has many homes.
If she offers to pay you with love,
Bok Hane, keep the treasures in your poems.
* This is part three of an 18-part series called The White Feather Series. All the poems on this site with a Roman numeral designation fall into this group.
II
The teacher and her pupil sat by the river
holding hands and trading adjectives of
admiration. Luna looked down upon the playful
couple and blessed their union. They were pioneers
on the frontier of a New World, like Balboa,
first to see the ocean and imagine humanity.
As the poet bloomed so did his passion
but she came in colours like paint on the stone
of his heart, he was stricken by a stolen valor
and the river churned on; it spoke to them in
drum-tongue. Hyacinths filled the air, her lungs
heaved on the perfume, more accustomed to roses.
Listen well, Bok Hane, her words are wise
and there is no turning back from this journey.
SNAKES (XI)
Temptation always comes in a pretty package;
they were caught between two worlds,
worlds apart. The reason for snakes
in the grass is to make elephants dance.
You were the candle leading him out
of the darkness, now you want to extinguish
his flame…you can’t have both ends
of his soul.
“I’m only forty!” Her words ringing, singing,
stinging his ears like a swarm of bees.
Locked in his silence, regret for a bed…
What hope is he entitled to?
The sky is bleeding stars and the Milky Way
it’s scar. Kuan Yin is humming a mantra
but there is no mercy for him now. She
disposes of people like he expels wind.
Does the cobra love or hate the flute?
When the air passes over the opening why
is the serpent compelled to dance?
Is it hate he feels for the music or romance?
Reality is the elephant on his chest and
he has faced that demon before and won.
Guilty hearts and broken dreams, Bok Hane,
can you live with the truth and be free?
IX
"Not exactly Rumi...", he quipped,
his words charged with full intent.
"Rumi writes for everyone," she replied,
"your words are meant for me alone."
With that he knew she understood
but one hundred and eighty-two rhymes
could not make Time his soft master. Yet one whisper from his beloved and age
melted away and he was Youth once more.
Warm Muskoka nights used to make
him happy, now they make him cry.
They were victims of a passion, raw,
not meant to endure; love became
the disease instead of the cure.
Round and round in dreams she went.
"Woman, don't you know me?”, his lament
Let me sing to you a sweet melody
designed to jog your fatal memory."
Do you really think, Bok Hane,
she could ever think of you again
and smile?
No where to go, who can understand, I don't want to be hurt
by your love. hurt by loving you...
Every kiss is new to me, but how can I trust you with my heart completely,
where does your carring heart come from, when will this love story end.
You take me in your arms and you hold me, fading pictures in my mind
along with fading memories.
I must hane been sleeping, I thought I was the one and only love,
how can I erase you from my thoughts, but I could never erase you
from my heart.
Without your love, I have no where to go, but can you find it in your
heart to understand how much it takes me to give you my heart, and to
give you all my love.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.