TRADITION WITH PRECISION
A poem celebrating art and the artist…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ancient hands weave the threads of time
each brushstroke a heartbeat,
each hue a memory etched in silence.
brushes dip in pools of pigments,
the clay shimmers like the first light,
each stroke deliberate.
every whisk echoes the practiced grace of learned fingers,
as if the brush speaks a language long forgotten,
revealing stories layered in texture and hue.
in chambers of solemnity,
the old master gazes down,
his eyes a reflection of trials and triumphs,
his art is more than mere creation;
it is an inheritance, a sacred dialogue across ages,
a tapestry of tradition and precision.
Our thoughts, like the sea with its white pebbles,
painted by its foam.
The waves come little by little, to halt them.
There, I see Greece.
Beneath the clouds that hide the sun,
its furrows moving back and forth like visitors.
They were forgotten on a pale islet at the horizon, where the gaze can reach.
In a small glass of red wine and a slice of bread,
behind the cornfields.
There, I see Greece.
In my grandparents’ house I left my memories in the yard,
in the scent of Sunday lunch.
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.
Laughter of children and the dull clatter of small feet on aged wood. The congestion of men's voices with talk of crops, rain, and "remembering when". The faintly drowned out sound of a stray hand unafraid to tickle long unused ivory. There, the aroma of well-planned dishes lay in wait to ambush and overwhelm the senses of those who will partake. The pride of a husband as his wife is washed in praise for her contribution. A communion of kind souls, the fellowship of close neighbors and friends. A vision carried on from a not-so-distant past. Where one could marvel at the magic of a fond smile and find comfort in a firm handshake that wordlessly informs, "you are a welcome sight".
exotic continent of contradictions
remote as remote can be
where deserts and cities coexist
where I can still go safari hunting
with traditional tribes like the Maasai
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
A tradition that goes beyond all else
a sweet little something, what else ?
She, in her Easter bonnet
Standing beneath the shade,
Alongside gentlemen in top hats
To view an Easter parade
Church bells ring distantly
Showy, white lilies sway,
Waving to sweet daffodils
On this springtime holiday
Baskets with chocolate rabbits
Jelly beans and colored eggs,
Are carried by happy children
Running by on pudgy legs
A whirl of pastel colors
Meant to delight the eye,
Like the first time seeing
A robin or a butterfly
Joyous music fills the air and
Easter dinner is on the way,
Ham and pineapple wait at home
To round out this special day!
I see full moon appear.
This means Easter is near.
For students I will make
chocolate Easter nests, no-bake.
I do this every year.
Making the nests is fun
and easy for nearly everyone.
Melt chocolate; add coconut in.
The mixture is not thin.
Form into nests; almost done!
Into each nest put candy.
Jelly bean eggs are handy.
For coconut, green food dye
is grass where eggs lie.
My Easter nests are dandy!
How was your year, folks out there
Feel thankful for what life bestows?
At dinner time say a prayer
For days of poetry and prose
Yam, turkey, cranberry and salad
Potatoes, cornbread, apple cake
The banquet worthy of a ballad
The smell of home, bread freshly baked
Three generations at the table
Enjoy great time and tasty meal
Thanksgiving Day of roundtable
Puts everything on even keel
Be grateful for the life you're living
Your health, your family and friends
What one receives and one is giving
This special day it all make sense
November 27, 2024
The Ink Stick
. for public domain
Rubbing ink calms the mind
so hairs may glide,
to bequeath
long lasting lines.
Our Christmas traditions ...
They came across the sea,
From the old, old towns
In the heart of Germany
Sugar and spice - filled
Were the gingerbread men,
Cut by hand ... carefully
As was the tradition then
A wooden nutcracker guards
In a frosted windowpane,
To keep away evil spirits ...
Out wandering down your lane
And, the advent calendar
Which hung on the wall,
The Christmas carols sung
In the home by one and all
Ornaments of blown glass
And the Christmas tree ...
Born in many an old town
... A gift from Germany.
The toothaches do not last
But, the memories, they do,
Once Halloween had passed
And my childhood, too ...
But, the memories, they do
Remain with me still ...
And my childhood, too
I am sure always will
Remain with me still ...
The magic and the fun,
I am sure always will
When all is said and done
The magic and the fun
Can so easily get away,
When all is said and done
Let them eat candy this day
Can so easily get away ...
Once Halloween had passed,
Let them eat candy this day
The toothaches do not last.
Mom said, “No sex before marriage,”
With rules she thought were quite sage.
But in her wedding shot,
I see a twist in the plot—
Was her vow just a part of the age?
What are the things that we live for?
Can we honestly say they’re the things
that if push came to shove we would die for?
The thought leaves me contemplating
how totally different it would all be
if for everyone these were the same,
but they’re not and I fear someday we’ll come to see...
we’ve only our own selves to blame.
Men bearing nakedness and strips of thong
running through and whipping the female throng
Blood red and milk white,
colors of delight.
A tradition for years that remained strong.
Young women wrote names with aim to belong.
Man drawing their name is their hopeful song.
Placed strip in an urn
for a mate they yearn.
The new couple together all year long.
Celebration of Lupa and Faunus,
the day is swiftly coming upon us.
festival of note,
formation to choate.
A fertile year for them was a promise.
Related Poems