Large showy flower
Used in hot and sour soup
medicinal fare.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Wasted Words-Rictameter
My comments on war!
consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again,
8, 6, 4, 2 Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with.
Truckloads
of wasted words
line up on back lots, march
past shelled stone facades and down bleak
alleyways seeking young inquisitive
souls trapped in constipated minds
prone outside wisdom’s door
drenched in bullshit
scratching.
Rictameter is a scheme similar to Cinquain. Starting your first line with a two syllable word, you then
consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again,
8, 6, 4, 2 Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Last Train Home--Chinese Documentary
Last Train Home--Chinese Documentary
We met at eleven
on a Wednesday
for a Chinese movie
preceded by a fat American
lunch at the Pavilion cafe.
Overfed in our luxury as we
observed the spirit of these dynamic people with
backs bent in two, using simple tools
to farm and rebuild cities, to live in squalid
closet-size rooms for decades, and send money home
to finance dead dreams, to children who don’t understand why.
To children who just want their mommy and daddy to tuck them in at night.
To forsake what we would call normal.
Young couples who have to leave home at an early age
leave their babies to work in factories
to make jeans for spoiled Americans with 40 inch waistlines
until their fingers are bent
until they have become so numb
that they no longer remember
how to speak to their own children.
Migrant workers trapped in their nightmare lives
breathlessly pushing
against the mob
for days
for a train to take them back to
sons and daughters
who live in tiny shacks with grandma
reeking of
inadequate plumbing
looking to escape the duty of being first in their class.
Frustrated lonely children searching for an alternate life
away from their parents’ stark reality.
Sharp children still wide-eyed
more impatient as each year passes
for mommy and daddy’s annual visit.
We met at eleven
on a Wednesday
for a Chinese movie
preceded by a fat American
lunch at the Pavilion cafe.
Overfed in our luxury as we
observed the spirit of these dynamic people with
backs bent in two, using simple tools
to farm and rebuild cities, to live in squalid
closet-size rooms for decades, and send money home
to finance dead dreams, to children who don’t understand why.
To children who just want their mommy and daddy to tuck them in at night.
To forsake what we would call normal.
Young couples who have to leave home at an early age
leave their babies to work in factories
to make jeans for spoiled Americans with 40 inch waistlines
until their fingers are bent
until they have become so numb
that they no longer remember
how to speak to their own children.
Migrant workers trapped in their nightmare lives
breathlessly pushing
against the mob
for days
for a train to take them back to
sons and daughters
who live in tiny shacks with grandma
reeking of
inadequate plumbing
looking to escape the duty of being first in their class.
Frustrated lonely children searching for an alternate life
away from their parents’ stark reality.
Sharp children still wide-eyed
more impatient as each year passes
for mommy and daddy’s annual visit.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Chasing Dinner
Over hill and dale
shadows
slash
bottle green bushes.
Bits of fur
matted and stained
flutter
in the brisk
morning air and
descend
in a grassy knoll
fragrant
with
lily of the valley
soaked
in
rosemary
and
thyme.
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