By Phan Tan Hai
Writing poems endlessly—my hands grow tired,
so I sit down to rest my feet.
White clouds return to the doorway;
we remember each other, a few tender bonds.
Dust settles upon the page,
blurring last night’s ink.
Lifting the pen, I want to weep—
the homeland’s story lies far away.
Seeing clearly the shore of birth and death,
one day I suddenly wish to lie down;
seeing, hearing the joy of stillness—
Being and Non-being both are mind.
Split open the poet’s heart—
in the Lý–Tr?n age, flowers rained from the sky.
This realm feels strangely distant,
mountains and rivers cold along the far road.
— For the birthday of poet Nguyen Luong Vy
By Phan Tan Hai
Forty years like a dream—
shaking off the dust of distant roads;
a faint trace still lingers,
tea-scent deep upon the lashes.
More than sixty passing years,
books read as countless as forests;
once hearing thunder split the peaks,
the mountains broke—fragrance filled the sky.
Returning, hearing the wind breathe,
sweeping through lifetimes of ignorance;
each page of Nguyen Tho’s words
stops mid-flight, as birds listen to the sutra.
Long miles walked without weariness,
the clouds of Tu Luc still drifting;
copying sutras in mist-like lines,
fragrance steeped into the slender strokes.
— March 2017. Respectfully offered to Venerable Nguyen Tho Thich Tu Luc on the fortieth anniversary of his ordination.
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.
By Phan Tan Hai
ink drained, the hand tilts, weary—
the page says its farewell;
fragrant with a century’s words,
the poet’s soul closes its eyes.
the lines lean, trembling,
the hand grows tired;
the verse exhales smoke,
chilling the page,
piercing deep into my soul;
a drop of ink rolls,
round and unending.
By Nguyen Giac Phan Tan Hai
Obeying your words, my steps
cross the shore to guide all beings.
Mist softens this fleeting world—
the road is far, yet the heart stays near.
Looking into the mirror, I suddenly see
my hair has turned white as dew.
Each day I breathe in quietness,
chilled by the winds of impermanence.
Opening the sutra, reading word by word,
I feel the Truc Lam forest tremble.
Breathing in, the Thien Mu bell
resonates through my whole body.
A single flower is lifted—
someone holds it, yet no one holds;
someone sees it, yet no one sees;
there is only the flower appearing.
By Phan Tan Hai
Once he heard a secret calling,
skipped school and sat on a distant island.
He saw the solitary clouds of the mountain forest—
a thousand years passed as she walked by.
Following the sunlight through whispering pines,
he led her into mountains veiled in mist.
He howled his poems into rain and wind,
sending them toward a wild and distant future.
By Phan Tan Hai
At midnight I trace the ancient pages,
golden dust of centuries settling thick—
hearing echoes of brushes, swords, and ink
returning to rattle open a full-moon festival.
Summoning old spirits drifting in the wind,
the Master searches, translating page by page;
comparing characters, the long night shortens,
copying lines of poetry vast as the sea.
I hear the old zither strings break into tears,
soldiers urging horses, their cries ringing out.
The Master records the soul of ink and paper,
his beard and hair dyed white by a thousand clouds.
---- Respectfully dedicated to Professor Nguyen Van Sam
I am a lowly servant, fearing the Lord,
Holding His commands deep in my heart.
You may drown me in doubt and scorn,
But like a rock, my obedience stands firm.
Does my praise for God's love unsettle you?
Does my song of faith disrupt your day?
You may cast harsh words upon me,
But like a rock, my trust in Him remains unshaken.
Does my joyful face trouble your soul?
Does my broken English make you turn away?
You may ignore my presence,
But like the gentle wind, I embrace you still.
Does my smile disturb your hardened heart?
Do my prayers for enemies seem strange to you?
You may strike me with hatred,
But like incense, my love for you rises ever higher.
For a man of grace and innocence
Once bore whips, thorns, and pain,
Crucified and suffering for all—
In my heart, the cross stands strong.
Temptation may try to shake me,
Hatred may pour upon my path,
Yet God’s love is greater than all things,
And His will guides me in love.
Like a rock, my hope, my dream, my destiny is in serving.
Like a rock, my faith in Him will never waver.
Deacon Joe Hung Nguyen
She loved her child through rivers and mountains,
copied sutras with trembling hands,
offered them at dawn, noon, dusk, and night—
each tear a stream flowing in silence.
She loved her child across endless miles,
chanting through tears like mountain rain.
The wind carried her voice to distant woods,
cold rain soaking into her soul.
Then Mother became mist, fading in midday sun.
Then Mother became fragrance, drifting through dreams.
Then Mother became cloud, white hair at heaven’s edge.
Then Mother became sunlight, a shadow behind the hill.
At midnight, I turn in a distant town,
reading the last line of her sutra.
Her words overflow with longing—
transcribing the Buddha’s teaching across the river.
O love! A forest of white hair
flies back to cover birth and death.
A bird cries from the farthest sky—
I lift my head, and hear the sound of the Unborn.
--- By Nguyen Giac Phan Tan Hai
Nguyen was quite a linguist
She spoke
Chinese
Japanese
Taiwanese
Vietnamese &
Cantonese
But not Americanese ~
Couldn't bling helserf to say 'Prease'
Be a servant of God, lowly and modesty.
Open our hearts for others with love and service, sincerely.
Lord Christ Jesus is the shinning beacon of our journey.
Darkness is no longer in the face of Jesus’ love and mercy.
We seek to serve You, Oh Lord, and your dispersed children.
Take our whole lives and reign them with your heaven’s grace.
Anoint them with your eternal love and compassion.
Into unknown, we will embrace.
Deacon Joe Hung Nguyen
* B.O.L.D = Becoming Our Lord’s Disciple
"Politics is for today. But a poem is forever."
--Ngoc M. Nguyen (after Albert Einstein's famous quote regarding his lack of politics)
© Ngoc M. Nguyen. All rights reserved. 02 August 2021
Chaos treads lightly across this land
Obviously making its fateful mark,
Vast majority of the land is plagued
Indeed all it needed was a spark.
Dealing with this outbreak
Requires determination and precaution,
Without both we can't move forward
And misinformation certainly isn't an option.
In the midst of all this mayhem
Discrimination definitely won't help,
Though it started in China
The pain and worry worldwide can be felt.
Pull together during this time
Destruction will lead to more disasters,
Perseverance has never failed us
Plus hope will make things go faster.
(c) Nick Nguyen 2020
In reprimand of Donald Anus Trump
(the Grand Old Party's best and choicest loser,
who sleazed and promised us he'll “drain the swamp”),
you live up to your name for there's none cruder
than you. And you behave like a male hussy
(who'd lay your daughter because she's a blonde peach),
and chirpily urge Bush to “grab [women] by
the pussy” (on video) in no figure of speech.
How to laud you our Commander-in-Chief;
when all you do is lie, distort, and threaten
your way out of the charge that you're a thief
(and fraud with whom Lord God has yet to reckon)?
And God help those children all at the border,
now dying by your executive order!
© 2019 Ngoc M. Nguyen...All Rights Reserved.
If one day you don't kiss me anymore,
All the leaves and flowers are arid and die,
And the ocean has no waves dancing to the shore
There’s no rolling cloud in the blue sky
If one day you don't hug me anymore
This world will be washed away in hopeless,
My happiness is frozen like Arctic ice floes,
Life is very ungainly and meaningless.
If one day you don't look at me lovingly,
And don’t say sweet words of love to me,
I know my life is full of darkness,
And my soul is like gravel under the sea.
If one day you don't love me anymore,
The sun will die and the moon commits suicide,
This earth broke into thousands of pieces,
Is there any pieces left to bury my shattered life?
If one day you abandon my loving,
I know for sure my heart will stop beating.
Joe Hung Nguyen
(Khe Kinh Kha)
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