Long Staining Poems
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By Phan Tan Hai
I sit reading a page of history—
the lines leaning, trembling with sorrow;
my eyes sting as I trace each word,
cold smoke rising into my soul.
I clearly see the names of friends
who died and now appear again,
demanding to charge once more with words—
a battle of humans or ghosts.
I see countless question marks
weighing heavily on every page;
a time as sad as smoke
staining the paper yellow-brown.
A time that feels so distant,
yet still chokes me as I read;
my homeland fills my eyes,
ink blurred but never fading.
Head bowed, I walked for ages—
my hair once so green;
as though a hundred lives have passed,
I look back and it is white.
I carefully record each word,
renewing the lines of poetry;
casting a hundred thousand words
to bloom as flowers on the far shore.
Written: October 28, 2025
I press my palm against your shoulder,
dust-streaked and aged
You unfold before me.
Heat rises from the folds
between the tendon and the tender dough.
I savor a bite of the dough.
reminiscent of the stars I once folded,
now scattered,
akin to lost receipts
in a tempest.
I arrive with my stained skin, as a flyer
marred by hurried typos,
hastily printed
by a restless intern.
Here, I consume you wholly.
A vendor presents grief in palm-sized parcels,
with you wrapped in sensational headlines
That twists the truth.
I swallow every piece of you,
even the mustard staining the captions.
But then the rain begins—my likeness of you blurs,
my ink a wing in flight as a winged creature.
A man in uniform smiles and brushes
the sugar from my scalp
casting it into the tide, a final farewell.
While the sun sets for you
it rises for me, you are halfway
around the world, our differences
nights and days apart –
while I dreamed of
settling you dreamed of travel –
when you saw blue skies
I was tamped beneath the
overcast below –
"timing is everything"
in life, I have often heard...
and as the clock ticks
further down, I have begun to
wonder if even eternity will bring
any of us really closer together...?
Oh!~ I know, for I have also studied
The Scriptures, and our need for faith...
but I have also tasted the tea
unsweetened, and read the residue –
staining my heart with vivid images
of sustained separation
Though alone is never alone
when with God, I am reminded
but even Christ clung to His beloved
human company...
The sun rises dressed in black
clouds cry as Siern's call
whithering in pain from burning flesh, burning ashes
leaving a bloody wound upon the Earth
Where stones stand silent in front of mounds
covered in grass washed in red
from the veins of those who have died
in senseless wars covering thousands of years
The tears of the mourning
try to wash away the blood of the buried
Their souls are crumbling in failure
As they bow to the curse of their misery
They paint their world from green to red in memory
from the carnage of generations
where emotional weakness masquerades as power
doomed to failure, over and over
Filling the sea, filling the soil
With broken tender branches sacrificed as an offering
on the battlefields of destruction by the evils of so few
Trying to enrich their corrupt souls
that drips with the blood of millions, staining the Earth
Is this the pinnacle of life?
To roam the landscape as destroyers of worlds
Where burning flesh becomes a fragrance to breathe in
filling the lungs of lunacy
While marching in parades on the torn streets
of self-gratification
where the blind stand to applaud
Then rummage through shattered worlds
filled with the dead and dying, like rats
scurrying across broken stones of false promises
Where liars hide in the shadows of discontent
The sun rises dressed in black
clouds cry as Siern's call
Another dream
My strength seeps from the cracks,
crevices ripped in a single slip
Reaching for hope again
I left my chest wide open
Streams of worth
flow like lying children
stealing quarters from the collection plate
at Sunday school - knowing it is a sin
More of the same, though different
beneath stained glass shadows
with leaking pens pointing
to the exit vestibule below
Staining my crisp white shirt,
collecting in the wrinkles
of this button down nightmare,
pooling at my motionless feet
Exhaustion cradles and I can’t move,
losing a step at each turn
Internal screaming becomes deafening
as the pain sings harmony off key
I see my face in the stainless steel
but can not reach my wrists
It falls, mingling with debris,
scattered amidst this love I’ve lost
I am weak, I know weak,
I have taken this test before
Lessons on blackboards never sink in,
report cards inked in letters far down the scale
There is no more running, only hiding from myself
Sleeping in the darkness of my fears knowing
they will only bring another dream,
that I will once again follow
A flicker of hair in the morning breeze
A lost invisible stare through the thicket of trees
A shining glint catches the eye
Upon inspection there is no metal nearby?
A movement unexplained
The sounds of hooves beating the plains
The scrape of iron as sword is drawn
The grunts of men in combat swarm
Evil was here one dawn, evil now dead for many morns
The red of blood splattered around
A stench of death on heated ground
The murmuring of monks under the red of the evening sun
The suffering of innocents has begun
Men in armour order the death of simple village men
Burning wood and smoke staining the air with blood strewn bodies everywhere
A wrong word or two over mead with friends
Could mean respect or death to unarmed men
Dark ages where dark powers reside
Days of yore saw dark deeds of men in dark times
Under blue of sky in these times gone by where rules of law have witnessed many tides
The sounds of the woods as pale light breaks through to shine on grounds where evil ruled.
Under canopies of branch and leaf misty haze settles around
Where shades of shadows hide lost faces of the taken
Blending into trees tautly misshapen
This ground once witnessed murder man-maken.
Rock bottom
People talk about it like they know what it means
Have I been there
I know I've been close
But I believe there is still farther to go down
But just how much farther
Something tells me I just might find out
No matter how far I've fallen I always manage to drag myself to slightly more stable ground
My knees staining the ground below rusty with my blood
Bone showing through flesh
A pain I no longer feel
I've become numb to most sensation
Like a protective barrier a bubble around my heart
Slowly I get to my feet and begin the careful administration of my wounds
Past scars a testament to battles fought and won
My ability to stand at all no longer a shock
My growing knowledge of stitching jagged wounds and setting shattered bones has been battle born
I am proud of these scars and these skills
I don't think I believe in rock bottom after all
I will not succumb until I'm dead
This journey finally over and the next yet to begin
I am the messenger I come from above the message I bring is
joy happiness and love.
I am the second messenger I come from Below The message I bring is
of hurt death and woe.
My message from above is about the happiness life brings
dreams of unicorns small bunny's and silk butterfly wings.
My message from below is of destruction death and hurt
with the blood of the innocent staining earth's dirt.
My message from above is of good times not bad
of smile's and laughter and the happy times we had.
My message from below is a warning to you all
That I'm waiting in my home called HELL for this world to fall
MY final message I send from above is to END THE WAR'S STOP THE KILLING STOP YOUR OWN DESTRUCTION.
love everyone end hate that's GOD'S instruction
This must be what it felt like when God breathed life into man or when Adam first saw Eve
We paint white sheets with vibrant colors, the bed is our canvas and love is the only art
Yawning with happiness leaving my morning breath
Looking to my left, I could watch you sleep all day as you lay with the glow of an angel or mornings first light
As innocence, beauty, and desire radiate from your soft kissed skin matching the sun rays
I fell asleep to the scent of your Aruba wave hair staining my pillows
With my arms holding you like a fall breeze clasping the deep red and orange leaves
Waking up to your head resting on my chest and my arm around your lower back
Your legs intertwined and over mine
Site slowly venting to your heavenly morning glimmers and your rosy morning fine
She moans Buenos Dias
p.s. I want you like just five more minutes…
in a quiet place
secluded &
alone
comfortable
with the silence
a pen
is posed
to write &
to bleed words
all else
is of no
matter
the inspiration
is almost there
of nature
& dreams
& spiritual thoughts
perhaps of life's
sorrows
then
the pen
pours out the words
on white
staining the paper
& the
poet
is weeping
weeping
for the poet knows
it is
good ink that
they have
poured
___________________
July 12, 2021
Poetry/Bio/a poet's life
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1371-628-12
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Brian Strand July 13
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 07/13/2021
First Place