there the distance
so far from here
this old heart
is weary
of roads of sails
of wings of rails
yet one step
taken
before this heart
turns away
Month: February 2019
for some reason a poem I identify with: A Hundred Days, Free to Go by Su Tung-p’o
A hundred days, free to go, and it’s almost spring;
for the years left, pleasure will be my chief concern.
Out the gate, I do a dance, wind blows my face;
our galloping horses race along as magpies cheer.
I face the wine cup and it’s all a dream,
pick up a poem brush, already inspired.
Why try to fix the blame for past trouble?
Years now I’ve stolen posts I never should have had.
translated by Burton Watson
***Written on his release from prison after 130 days and before leaving for a remote post which was essentially like exile again.
another purpose
there’s wisdom
in books
life experience
adventure escape
worlds to explore
all by reading them
but sometimes
they serve another purpose
important too
of clobbering
some bully
on the head
A man is usually more careful of his money than he is of his principles. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
from the blog A Pondering Mind
“If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.”
from Douglas Moore’s Art of Quotation
“If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.”
Shirley Chisholm, congresswoman, activist, women’s rights
whatever lies ahead
you shouldn’t go backward
on these roads
of life
just forward
regardless of potholes
toward whatever future
lies ahead
what’s not important
deleting photos
emptying boxes
discarding files
not obliviating the past
just eliminating
what’s not important
to keep
from a line by Niu Shi-chi
remember always
she said
as she floated
over land
only looking back
to say
always be tender
with the grass
as I am
to you
for Valentine’s Day a repost: little black dress
little black dress
she wears
that night
and twirls
around the room
you like
she asks
that twinkle
in her eyes
yes
I say
very much
but more
I like
who wears it
she laughs
and twirls
circles
in the room
circles
in my heart
she twirls
Drank Tonight at Eastern Slope by Su Tung-p’o
Drank tonight at Eastern Slope, sobered up, drank again;
got home somewhere around third watch.
The houseboy snores like thunder;
I bang the gate but nobody answers.
Leaning on my stick, I listen to river sounds.
Always it irks me–this body not my own.
When can I forget the world’s business?
Night far gone, wind still, river creped in ripples:
I’ll leave here in a little boat,
on far waters spend the years remaining.
translated by Burton Watson
Leonard Durso 