ARTS: Big and Little Poetry--free verse, any verse.
i
Surprise Ending
Winter love gone so lingers gratefully,
Beneath trees Given to Marjorie
My Priest, I am hers in old age, in white
Drifts of snow, Ubasoku, her support
On High Plains, abandoned farm houses,
We still live as couple after more than forty,
Years. Our love games have become
Poetry and foot slides, pacing, Heaven
Where you look out, not up.
Placing pain patches ache
I present without shirt my back, my front
Lovingly. We speak harshest in spring
Like apples of trees falling in September,
Our backyard gardens of the moon
To each other we are old couple
All day long, one easily
To each other, we play at our
Pokemon go just to be ourselves.
We are an old couple beneath trees
Still waters with each, she abides
Me. Although her eyes weaken year
After year, we are still seeing
Each other like that first game we played
Of pool in 1980, January 7th, we sang
In our orchard of love. Remembered
First teaching Contract, game of love sports,
One class of Rhetoric one oh one,
Floor beginning, English, Philosophy,
Anthropology students at Iowa our
University. Much to our dismayed
Sorrow, Professor Emeritus Bill Clark
Our Friend advocate, sovereignty
Understanding, had fallen, killed
In freak accident, I was disappointed
He knew nothing of my MFA. Done
Same year he died braking his skull.
They bought him his grave--wine glasses
We never use today.
II
Same Come My Old Age
Marjorie bought me walker try try
To know of poetry She said, "You must
Use your walker we are children of poetry
You will fall like Professor Clark
Only thing to remind me of you
Will be your poetry, too soon your ashes
Fallen from trees of paradise, We will not
Sing together like birds at end of our winter
In our Maple trees in front of our little
Home that we own, “free and clear."
Money saved in our old age, money
For things that are never to be. I use
My walker, Know that I care!
I stay my course chosen like one
I am hers eternally, like song birds
In our maple trees enjoying sight
Of poetry, our little home, grown
Our daughter to Denver, Profess like me.
Gone like melody, like us in our
Eternity; we may not see her end.
We gave her good life, beginning
Rockies, Mountains she returns to,
We leave with knowledge I have not
Fallen beneath our maple trees--
That daughter started her work found
Pleasing or difficult to see
Life that she dreamed of, will know
In her own eternity, Buddha heaven
Of good befalls us all three, this
Is my hope, my wish, there is no
Wish I have harder, not relaxed
I know we have tried hardest, as is.
Parents could be, as can be, as is.
Know there is no certainty because
Walker or no walker, I might fall.
She might never last Professing,
Might know death wrong, whether
By tumors, or in pounding her head against
Climbing Longs Peak in mighty Rockies
Front Range gone there never return, gone
Never to be, never decided her life
In ashes before she is old be
Old, and like her own poetry
Produced as I am me in my old age.
Charles Tai Shi
sat/lah
Great Gassho
i
Surprise Ending
Winter love gone so lingers gratefully,
Beneath trees Given to Marjorie
My Priest, I am hers in old age, in white
Drifts of snow, Ubasoku, her support
On High Plains, abandoned farm houses,
We still live as couple after more than forty,
Years. Our love games have become
Poetry and foot slides, pacing, Heaven
Where you look out, not up.
Placing pain patches ache
I present without shirt my back, my front
Lovingly. We speak harshest in spring
Like apples of trees falling in September,
Our backyard gardens of the moon
To each other we are old couple
All day long, one easily
To each other, we play at our
Pokemon go just to be ourselves.
We are an old couple beneath trees
Still waters with each, she abides
Me. Although her eyes weaken year
After year, we are still seeing
Each other like that first game we played
Of pool in 1980, January 7th, we sang
In our orchard of love. Remembered
First teaching Contract, game of love sports,
One class of Rhetoric one oh one,
Floor beginning, English, Philosophy,
Anthropology students at Iowa our
University. Much to our dismayed
Sorrow, Professor Emeritus Bill Clark
Our Friend advocate, sovereignty
Understanding, had fallen, killed
In freak accident, I was disappointed
He knew nothing of my MFA. Done
Same year he died braking his skull.
They bought him his grave--wine glasses
We never use today.
II
Same Come My Old Age
Marjorie bought me walker try try
To know of poetry She said, "You must
Use your walker we are children of poetry
You will fall like Professor Clark
Only thing to remind me of you
Will be your poetry, too soon your ashes
Fallen from trees of paradise, We will not
Sing together like birds at end of our winter
In our Maple trees in front of our little
Home that we own, “free and clear."
Money saved in our old age, money
For things that are never to be. I use
My walker, Know that I care!
I stay my course chosen like one
I am hers eternally, like song birds
In our maple trees enjoying sight
Of poetry, our little home, grown
Our daughter to Denver, Profess like me.
Gone like melody, like us in our
Eternity; we may not see her end.
We gave her good life, beginning
Rockies, Mountains she returns to,
We leave with knowledge I have not
Fallen beneath our maple trees--
That daughter started her work found
Pleasing or difficult to see
Life that she dreamed of, will know
In her own eternity, Buddha heaven
Of good befalls us all three, this
Is my hope, my wish, there is no
Wish I have harder, not relaxed
I know we have tried hardest, as is.
Parents could be, as can be, as is.
Know there is no certainty because
Walker or no walker, I might fall.
She might never last Professing,
Might know death wrong, whether
By tumors, or in pounding her head against
Climbing Longs Peak in mighty Rockies
Front Range gone there never return, gone
Never to be, never decided her life
In ashes before she is old be
Old, and like her own poetry
Produced as I am me in my old age.
Charles Tai Shi
sat/lah
Great Gassho
for positive poetry 優婆塞 台 婆
Comment