Spring — Passion
Kintsugi dawn—
white plum scents night air
tea rises in stillness.
Cranes cross pale sky;
child laughter drifts on moss.
A garden remembers.
Summer — Vocation
Tatami breathes—
cicada shells cling
reborn softly.
Koi flicker below
ripples fade in quiet hands.
Evening thunder calls—
incense drifts
forms bow.
Autumn — Mission
Fox lanterns kindle
shoji float through silver mist—
ancestral spirits stir.
Stray dog nestles
by the gate;
even strays seek warmth.
Tea vapor
recalls morning.
Winter — Profession
Snow settles
on stone lanterns
pine needles in palm.
Cold brushes fingertips.
Crane arcs slowly—
silhouette lingers on old walls.
Work kneaded
with laughter;
fire clothes darkness.
Completion — All Seasons as One
Sakura scatter—
petals dance
mirror tea vapor.
Breath holds the garden.
Circle closes
opens anew.
Tea cools,
reflects sky—
time folds gently.
There's a blood-stained tatami house
and it rest peacefully near the cherry blossoms and pond
It has an ancient roof that aims for heaven
and a foundation built in hell
There's a small child in the house
and he sits alone with his welts and wounds
The room has a rather unique smell;
presumably rotten veggies
There's a breeze blowing the cherry blossoms
and near it lies a box
Ever so neatly tucked away in the trunk;
a knife and a rope
There's a beautiful pond shimmering
and in it lies the bodies
Carelessly tossed in;
the boy pushes me in as well.
blooming inside
your dancing lips trace moonlight in my heart
I feel your dreamy words
creaming
caressing
sugaring
sweetening
------ my closed minds
Full Moon
........rising in the east
........lanterns and moon viewing
........and a cup of green tea
opening inside
your loving kindness reflected moonlight in my heart
I sense your poetic desire
seeking
strumming
gliding
gradually
------ into my mind
Full Moon
.......kissing the tatami
.......softly entering the residence
.......lighting upon a maiden's face and her samurai
tiptoeing inside
your gentle warrior heart shining moonbeam in my heart
I embrace your burning soul
melting
dissolving
enchanting
electrifying
------ this body of mine
10/5/2009
I. The Bloom
Delicate flower,
sleeping endlessly dreaming
Patiently waiting
White horizon, winter peace,
release tears reluctantly.
II. The Village
Boxes in spaces,
old wooden tatami floor
Summers breath still held within
Outside streets, shuffling feet,
their chatter less foreboding.
III. The Animosity
Blood-stained katana,
glinting insinuation,
fell against ground.
The rooms lie low and hollow,
perforated by two stone gardens
enclosed in the center.
A lone hard chair hides in the corner.
The tatami mat, brown and warped,
gently springs beneath my steps;
this house only welcomes
travelers passing through.
But if only you knew
the stories I could tell you,
it whispers to me through the two holes
smashed into the side of a paper wall.
Prayer beads lie under a veil of dust on a low wooden desk
overlooking the rooftops of Kyoto.
I imagine their soft worn edges and the prayers of their owner
but all I can see from here is a smiling neon Jankara sign
and a politician's van lurching past, mechanically chanting
empty vows.
When the moonlight touches my tatami,
Spreading silver petals on the floor,
I shall leave the cosy bed behind me.
Like a cat, I’ll tiptoe to the door.
It is spring. The sakura’s in blossom.
I would watch this scene for all my life.
It’s a miracle which is so awesome,
That I’ll stay outside until it’s light.
There will come the sun like inspiration,
And a bird will sing its merry song.
Everything is full of exaltation,
But so dark and gloomy is my soul.
Oh, I wish I were a tiny creature,
Something like this lovely careless bird…
Then I’d be both happier and richer
Than the rulers of this rotten world.
tatami (in Japanese houses) any of a number of thick, woven straw mats of uniform dimensions, about three feet by six feet (91 cm by 183 cm), the placing of which determines the dimensions of an interior.
sakura (Japanese) an ornamental cherry blossom tree and its blossoms
Secret kisses smile...
shadows behind rice papered walls,
slow deliberate steps shuffle
upon tatami reed mats that rise and fall,
steamy scents and moans are muffled
as the midnight dance,knows no miles...
the walls of my room are doors
exposed when you stalk my perimeter
squinting shut when I am gasping
for air
alone. you must have chosen me
from a list of names and ages,
perhaps photos. we had a boy
last year, you mentioned over dinner.
you wanted me to be
here, your shadow slides through
the thin paper walls and rattles
across frail wooden bars and tatami.
the door is open, but your gaze pierces
elsewhere, a door restlessly slams
into itself again and again. I fumble
through my words like so many keys
and jam every one. why, you ask,
did you even come here when you
cannot speak the language
of doors. every breath stifles
into a cold vaporous shell. on the
precipice of a doorway hanging
ajar and shaking, I wonder
how much of myself
is still left here.
When you’re 4
Leaving a city
Age 8
Unfortunate
Many events
You forget.
Spoke fluent Japanese,
Phrases
Some words
Counting
Still do.
Cherry blossoms
Thin rice paper doors
Friends
School
Black crows
Flashbacks still view.
Kimonos
Tatami floors
Koi fish
Back then,
Looked different
And new.
Rice crackers
Nori
Dried fish
Delightful snacks
To eat,
“Stop eating that garbage”
Mom yelled
“Throw it away, close the lid!”
Many years, cities later,
Enjoying sesame flavored Jellyfish
Re-living Tokyo memories
Only in wishful dream.