Every year at the jade mirror stand,
it’s harder to paint myself into a plum flower.
You didn’t return home this year,
and each letter from across the Yangtze fills me with fear.
I drink less since our separation,
my tears exhausted in sorrow.
I see deep Chou clouds when I think of him in distance.
My man is far and the world’s edge is near.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
Returning from dream, sobering up, I fear spring sorrow.
Smoke dies in the duck-shaped incense burner, but the fragrance lingers.
My thin quilt can’t stop the dawn chill.
Cuckoos sing and sing till from the west tower the moon drops.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
An appeal for a translator from Serbian to English by a very talented writer/blogger: Leila Samarrai. Please reblog to help her.
well
I’ve tried
the lady
and the tiger
survived both
more or less
so now
I’m eyeing
door number 3
and thinking
whatever I’ve got
to lose
I’ve already lost
and with that thought
firmly implanted
in what’s left
of this brain
I stride forward
hand outstretched
reaching for the future
door number 3
has it been
so very long
that we sat together
at the Blue Note
listening to jazz
those days
I would sign you out
for a trip
off-campus
a Shakespearean play
with The Scribblers
you writing poetry
in my living room
eating donuts
drinking coffee
reading every book
I recommended
in my classes
for 3 years
surprising everyone
at that school
who had so little faith
in you
who was always
one step away
from expulsion
but we knew
didn’t we, David
that you would blossom
and there you are
with family
a career in advertising
writing for a living
mentoring others
now
like I mentored you
my heart swells
to hear this
see you’ve grown
into the man
I always knew
you would be
and so honored
to have you
in my life
again
A colorful hanging chart with no lines.
A pure algebra problem with no solution.
A one-string harp, stirring rosaries
that hang from dripping eaves.
A pair of oars that can never reach
the other side of the ocean.
Waiting silently like a bud.
Gazing at a distance like a setting sun.
Perhaps an ocean is hidden somewhere,
but when it flows out–only two tears.
O in the background of a heart,
in the deep well of a soul.
translated by Chou Ping
step
by step
along an oft times
perilous journey
one walks runs
perhaps crawls
toward the vision
one beheld
before doubt
fear confusion
clouded one’s eyes
there
lies the path
toward the source
of the pounding
of one’s heart
I tell you, don’t adore your coat of gold brocade.
I tell you, adore the short spell of youth.
When the bloom is ready it must be plucked.
Don’t wait till flowers drop and break the empty twig.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
BUT WHY do you go to the wall?
WHY does he go to the wall?
You go to the
wall because
that’s where the door is
maybe.
Down on the sidewalk recurrent
children’s forms, reds, greens,
walking along with the watching
elders not their own.
It’s winter, grows colder and colder.
How to play today without sun?
Will summer, gone, come again?
Will I only grow older and older?
Not wise enough yet to know
you’re only here at all
as the wind blows, now
as the fire burns low.
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual speakeasy of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
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L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
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Leonard Durso 