Long Minh Poems
Long Minh Poems. Below are the most popular long Minh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Minh poems by poem length and keyword.
Night after night, images flicker on the tube
Horrific images of ‘the enemy’ dying
Dying ‘Agent-Orange’ deaths
~ Seems America can do no right…
Night after night, images darken the screen
Palestinian women and children
Starving, dying in droves obscene
~ Seems Israel can do no right…
Night after night, viewing the horror of war
Provide no context for what came before
No videos of Communist Vietnam’s brutality
No memory of Israelis burned and butchered, October 7 fatalities…
Watching a steady stream of ‘enemy’ deaths
Viewers become exhausted, out of breath
Gradually they identify with the foe
Cheering on Ho, (Ho, Ho Chi Minh)
Jeering at Bibi and (Genocide) Joe
‘Truth’ is only on the screen, or so it seems
~ History projects a wider beam
Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the summers you spread across the page, blazing with noon sunlight;
the Saigon alleyways you walked, canopied with flame-red blossoms;
the tender first love that chilled every rainy afternoon;
the startled wings of birds flying against the wind;
the fragrance you pressed into words, learning to draw charms like the ancients.
.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the paths you walked between letters of dream and truth;
your footsteps carrying the whisper of Nha Trang’s restless waves;
the nights behind the curtain where you met Princess My Nuong laughing in the rain;
the verses still echoing four thousand years of legends;
the deep sadness, the pipa’s tremor of the Dragon King remembering Au Co.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
the ones you once wrote,
the days you stood in parched fields reading verses to summon rain;
the days you copied children’s rhymes across endless new pages;
the ink still heavy with sorrow from a season-strayed wind;
the l?c bát spells you wrote to invite the apricot blossoms to bloom;
and I still stand beside the stone horses of the Ly and Tran dynasties,
my legs weary from an ancient race.
Beyond the lines of your poems—
is Minh the sun,
is minh the day,
so that ink and paper shimmer between dream and real?
Beyond the lines of your poems—
is Minh the moon,
is minh the crescent light,
so a half-moon glows forever in your poetry?
Beyond the lines of your poems,
beyond the lines of your poems.
--- Phan Tan Hai. Dedicated to poet Nguyen Thi Khanh Minh
By Phan Tan Hai
Holding his alms bowl, the monk walks on,
his robe stitched from clouds across the sky;
we send him back to the mountain corner—
how many partings in a single life.
Standing, sitting—all for the people,
his chest still aching from blades once struck;
tears flooding the three realms,
Avalokitesvara embodied in his form.
A time he left, burdened with sorrow,
feet weary along both banks of the Ganges;
turning back, he awakened as Minh Trí,
his hair falling like dust along the road.
— For my friend Nguyen Cong Bang,
later a Theravada monk with the Dharma name Minh Tri.
B-52: a city on its own.
You mess with us, we’ve got technology.
I loved it when we flew into the zone:
as Ernie said, “We’ll kill ’em till they’re free.”
My job? To watch the black cascade of death
and myriad explosions in the woods:
Louisiana lilt – “You hold your breath,”
that’s Ernie’s voice – “delivering the goods!”
The pretty serpentine of falling bombs
that seemed to slither through the virgin air
distracted me from pilot intercoms,
and radar monitors’ unblinking glare.
We didn’t think – I only speak for me –
you’d have to ask my buddies on the crew,
if any made it out – of those VC,
or what our “dirty chemicals” might do
to people down below. We went along
with what they told us, Audie Murphy-like.
Neil Armstrong was, to us, just one word – “strong”.
And dinks and gooks could go and take a hike.
That lunar surface. Nothing down there moved.
“I guess they won’t be planting no more rice,”
- that’s Ernie. Our sophistication proved,
we sang the Sound of Music (Edelweiss).
By accident, I saw a TV Show
last week, some fancy name, “Unceasing Toil”,
about those peasants. Watching HBO
is not my thing. It said we wrecked their soil
and killed their trees. Who, me? I don’t know squat.
The gorgeous nebula when napalm bursts
is fun from up on high. I’ll tell you what.
Phosphorus bombs beat all your Damien Hirsts.
2025.03.06
Dear God,
I humbly kneeled in front of you.
Please blessed and protected me.
I have lived many years,
Why did I develope this feelings?
To someone who had heart of coals.
I wished I could resolve and remove,
All the emotional pain,
And stick to my single life's plan.
Tomorrow will be another day again,
From sun rises to sun sets.
All I want is to remember how to forget,
That would be the best solution.
Time will pass and heal all wounds.
But how soon, indeed how soon.
There was a saying in one of my language,
To an old husband, young wife was liked heaven.
To an old wife, young husband meant payments.
Amen.
Troi cao co thau,
Cuoi xin nguoi ban phuoc cho doi con.
Qua bao tuoi doi.
Moi gap duoc nguoi minh men yeu.
Thuong nho yeu chieu.
Nho nhung doan truong xot da,
Uoc gi co the to ra,
Dem long nho thuong nguoi dan nuoc la,
Roi thoi gian cung se troi qua
Moi tinh lan dan suot cuot doi ta.
Trot yeu nguoi khong yeu minh
Chi la gay dan cuoc tinh gian do.
Yeu chi cho kho doi ta.
Co le minh pham kiep dao hoa.
Co ngay no se troi qua
De duoc song mot minh thoi tha.
Chong gia vo tre la tien
Chong tre vo gia la tien bo ra
By Phan Tan Hai
Last night I listened to the Dharma on the hill;
today I descend the mountain, chanting ancient sutras.
If someone asks, I simply say
I studied—and forgot it all, as if I’d never learned a thing.
Luckily a few words remain in my poems,
their fragrance carried by ink along the shores of birth and death;
speaking, laughing, walking like a sutra—
you and I appearing only as reflections in a mirror.
Last night I sat in the Dharma hall,
hearing storm winds and river rain across the long miles;
if someone asks, I point only to mist and smoke—
treatises and scriptures leave no trace upon me.
Seeing the mind neither coming nor going,
both shores dissolving, far from sorrow;
a muddy buffalo crossing waves—where does it go?
leaving no footprints, even the bridge drifts away.
Last night the moon rose over the hill;
I saw the mind silent—no self, no other.
If someone asks, I lift a single flower;
whatever is seen, whatever is known, is distant by ten thousand realms.
Joy arises as I copy impermanence,
Dharma words blending with the night’s poetry;
the written lines fall away beyond the eaves—
only the wordless sutra remains to teach meditation.
Last night dew soaked my shoulders;
I sat releasing past, present, and future.
If someone asks, I offer only the sound of a bell—
who holds it, who hears it, all like a dream.
Tomorrow I will carry the Dharma across the shore,
transmitting the moon-mind—who waits, who goes?
empty and open like the evening sunlight,
nothing to hold, nothing to release.
---- Respectfully dedicated to the esteemed Do Hong Ngoc, Tran Tuan Man, Nguyen Can, and Venerable Minh Dieu Nguyen The Dang.
after Ho Chi Minh
I
The stone basin holds
still water. The still water
drinks the arid sponge
as rays of pure energy
slake their thirst on
the ebon wings of crows
II
Yangtze flows from widows peak
pooling briefly in the lock
of a tired eye. Dirt
and salt cry brackish tears
before leaping from sallow chin,
like rain from languid boughs
III
Frogs turn dirges beyond
translucent glass, their croaks
fold and crease the air
putting dusk on the shelf.
Aphids eat the pithy stalks
and drown in sudden morning dew.
IV
No callused hand washes
in the same basin twice
V
The kettle boils, pallid
phantoms push through iron
walls. Prescient tea leaves show
time’s current—fish swim
upstream. Two worlds away,
a young girl draws a bath.
VI
Forehead donning liquid rosaries,
each dawn anoints a king anew
Each afternoon, grains of rice
cling to one another, fulfilled.
Ink spills quickly each evening,
the white page laps at pitch waters.
VII
Eleemosynary sunlight burns
through the keyhole, tumblers
click in the lock. The stone basin
is once again filled with still water.
Watch out for that ideology
Bad effects on your psychology
It bleeds into our sociology
‘Til we hate one another’s biology
Let’s make a pact
To get our facts together
Have no ideology
Whatsoever
Hitler and Stalin and Mao and Amin –
Terminating angels of some fantastic machine
Marx and Weber and Keynes and Rand
Raised a fist of thought in hand
But Peter and Paul and the whole Roman Church
Didn’t wanna leave anyone in the lurch
Ho Chi Minh shoved me on a Mekong barge
Meanwhile, the Castros were living large
Let’s make a pact
To get our facts together
Have no ideology
Whatsoever
Apostles, ideologues, acolytes –
Whatever gets you thru the glassy night
The world is your battleground and you must fight
Just watch for the mines under your short sights
P S its POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 15
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God,
tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still;
Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s
… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice;
Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings
of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
Moses Sichach 325
Muhadzis Ghafur 333
Naledi Segosebe 366
Nancy Lee Kaufman 318
Nandita Das 54
Natasha Turner 131
Nathan Hannen 333
Neil Delport 269
Nelvy Gracia Majaw 375
Neva E. Romaine 111, 61
Newton Ranaweera 257, 303
Newton Rathnasiri Ranaweera Kalu Arachchige 300
Ngoc Minh Nguyen 345
Nia Feren Puthanveettil 438
Nicholas Windle 119, 232, 79
Nicola Davidson 173
Nikolay Lopatin 363
Nina Parmenter 261, 9, 91
Nora Gibson 197, 286
Nyonglema Christian Pisoh 266
Ogino Makoto 342
Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser 100, 145, 86
Panagiota Romios 124, 53, 71
Pashang Salehi 151, 326, 96
Patricia Cammish 367, 368
01/06/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©