Withered vines, old trees, crows at dusk;
A small bridge, flowing water, a few houses;
An ancient road, a lean horse in the west wind.
The evening sun sinking in the west–
A heartbroken traveler still at world’s end.
translated by Sherwin S.S. Fu
I cross the river to pluck hibiscus,
In the orchid marsh, many scented plants.
I pluck, but whom should I give them to?
For my love resides in a distant land.
Turning my head, I look toward home,
Along that vast and endless road.
Our hearts are one, yet we dwell apart,
Worrying and grieving till we grow old.
Everyone’s
heading in the same direction.
And me, watching from the side.
Taking off my gloves, my hands stop–
what is it?
a memory flits through my mind
translated by Hiroaki Sato
In the end
that’s the road I’ll travel–
I’ve known it all along–
but I didn’t think I’d have to start
this very day
translated by Burton Watson
he named us The Jesters
had someone design the sweaters
a coat of arms
the unofficial leader
but more inclined to follow
told stories of his older brother
and cousins the Cicero boys
with sound effects
galloping horses
gunfire
the roar of the crowd
a witness to my first car accident
almost caused my second
when the ashes of his cigarette fell
between his legs
one of the three of us
who actually graduated high school
attended college for a semester
then married
got a job
had kids, I imagine, with Lorene
his sister Maryann
the darling of our crowd
a teller at a local bank
there are some who never get beyond
the working class we’re born in
that was Vic
too good natured to have ambition
still on the same block
making crowd noises
for his kids
Awakening spring: how many leaves!
Rustling dawn: how many branches!
Does she know the pangs of love?
Never a time she wouldn’t dance.
Pussy willows aflutter–hide white butterfly,
Tendrils hanging limp–bare yellow oriole.
All conquering beauty, perfect through and through:
Who would enjoy just the brows of her eyes?
translated by Eugene Eoyang & Irving Y.Lo
music fills the room
there is whiskey in the glass
shadows on the walls
memories haunt restless minds
this mind won’t rest till morning
like Cortez my ships
were burned just after landing
behind me the sea
in front an empty landscape
which way do I choose to go
Mr. Cool
always had that been there look
in his eyes
the way he could casually slouch
into a room
his hands open
a brown belt in taekwondo
before it became the rage
he had one helluva roundhouse kick
and did hyeongs to impress the girls
in the middle of the street
daring cars to hit him
no one saw him fight
but everyone assumed he would win
the undisputed champ
until he made a play for Judy
Kevin’s girl
and Kevin knocked on his back door
Hanley giving a smug smile as he stepped out
barefoot
that roundhouse kick in reserve
only he never got to throw it
and Kevin left him broken
bleeding in his own backyard
he dropped out of high school a week later
just three months shy of graduation
and joined the navy
submarine service
four years in ports of call
looking for his lost title
Mr. Cool
in bars halfway round the world
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
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret 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
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
She comes out of the rain in a silk dress
Leonard Durso 