as we edge
here
toward tomorrow
hope
crashes against
hope
Month: November 2017
another year, another Thanksgiving on the other side of the world
there are voices calling my name
on the other side of the world
an empty chair
a glass not filled with wine
dark meat with gravy
stuffing with mushrooms
manicotti
and Robert’s famous meatballs and gravy
hot and sweet sausage
broccoli with garlic, lemon and oil
Johnny bought blueberry pie
only I’m not getting a piece
’cause I’m over here
on the other side of the world
quietly finishing a bottle of wine
trying not to think of your voice
the sorrow in the air
fresh flowers don’t quite kill the smell
of disappointment
regret
another year gone by
that empty chair
that bottle of wine unopened
ice cream melting on a plate
Al Martino singing love songs
George serving salad
and you sliding food onto my plate
the cat under the table
my hand reaching across
space
grabbing nothing
grabbing air
on the other side
of the world
“Everywhere in life, the true question is not what we gain, but what we do.”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation blog
“Everywhere in life, the true question is not what we gain, but what we do.”
forever like my heart: for Frank
the wind blows through rooms
it chills whoever sits there
shadows on the walls
frozen in time forever
like my heart now that you’re gone
The Buddhist Nun by Baek Seok
another translation from the Korean by Geul on the blog Cardiac Slaves of the Stars
(translated from the Korean by geul)
The nun put her hands together and bowed.
She smelled of wild asters.
Her melancholic face was old, as of old.
Sorrow overcame me like scripture.
Goldmine deep in some mountain in Pyeongando
I bought an ear of corn from a pale woman.
Beating her young daughter, the woman wept coldly like the autumn night.
Ten years passed as she waited for her husband who’d taken off like a wasp.
The husband did not return and
the young daughter went to a stony grave for the love of bell flowers.
There was a day when the mountain pheasant too cried sorrowfully.
There was a day when locks of the woman’s hair fell together with teardrops in a ***corner of a mountain temple.
wonders inside
treasures that we seek
often not what we expect
come unfamilar
in wrapping strange to our eyes
though there are wonders inside
open for discussion
poised on the balls
of his feet
he waits
the first move
yours
the last
open for discussion
another morning another day
the cat curls
in my lap
as I watch the trains
roll by
while the sun peeks
through the clouds
over the hills
to the east
another morning
another day
here
in Aliağa
a revisit as another year passes: this business of mine
the well is deep
and I ponder it often
especially in early morning hours
a specialty of mine
there is a lesson to learn
and I could should learn it
so I am looking sideways
upside down
then backwards
a complicated process
this business of mine
just trying to figure out
all of it
before the ink runs dry
once again: the promise of things to come
in the glint
of your eyes
the hint
of a smile
on those full lips
one hand caressing
your hair
the other firmly placed
on a hip
the tilt of your shoulders
almost a shrug
there
here
the promise
of things to come
Leonard Durso 