Category: Poetry
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The Art of Poetry
“Poetry’s like painting: there are pictures that attract you more nearer to, and others from further away. This needs the shadows, that to be seen in the light, Not fearing the critic’s sharp eye: this pleased once, that, though examined ten thousand times, still pleases.” -Horace There is more than one way to appreciate poetry. …
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Late Summer
I split the fig in twomarveled at the milky sap dripping, smearing this fertile womb these tiny flowers, reddened pilgrims swimming to the motherland. I slid my fingers into the slit softly tender, it tugged against my skin. I stuffed it behind my lips its flesh spread open, yielding under my teeth. I thought of how this was once hard, green until a wasp came inside inseminated it a late summer sweetness.
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Full Moon
Want to see LunaAn Autumn Night has fallenHalf a lifetime’s come evenThe cinnamon has ripenAnd I’ve been waitin’for the banyan tree’s invitationto meet a friend or drown in sadnesssee winds and clouds to float with joyAugust’s Full Moon,Lean on me and laugh all the way down.–Translated from Tản Đà Every full moon is special, but August’s full moon,…
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Hồ Xuân Hương’s Poetry
About 200 years ago, there was a Vietnamese poet named Hồ Xuân Hương. Born into a culture heavily influenced by Confucianism, during a time when women were to abide to the three obediences and the four virtues, she had the audacity to write poetry that was as sexual as obnoxious. For a kid reading her…
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Poetry
Some folks, including myself, find it difficult to understand poetry. A big part of it is sentence structure, which does not align closely to speech the way a novel does. Classical poetry conforms to rules and forms, but modern poetry, especially the free-verse kind, hardly does. Another reason is missing context, the lack of knowledge…
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Banks’ Rose
I was at a river of chocolateThere she was, Banks’ Rosethousands upon thousandstiny bouquets dangling like wind-chimesfleeting, fragile, delicate. I stand with her at a T-junction,where time standsstretching thininvisible. She’ll soon dieBut I’ll be here,waiting for the rose and her fragrant, soft petalslingering around just enough to be solovable, magical, fantastical.
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Ode to the Octopus
Eight limbsShe’s not simply crawlingShe is the Kraken that watches the waterlike she’s got eight eyes,circling her universefor every lump, every bump, every slit, every crack. So watch out when she comesshe is the Medusa of the seapivoting, sucking on her preywrapping enemies into her wombdrowning them in ink so black they’d wonderif it were…
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Juniper for Jupyter
My mind is stuffed, likea holiday turkey, full of breadand celery and spicesof a lifeTwo scores, and then some So forgive the mind, if it takesColdplay for Cold StoneJuniper for Jupyter Though I’ve wondered, Has it figured out the shortest pathto reach the deepest corner,the oldest door isloosely coupledwith iambs and rhymesheuristicallyapproximatelyprobabilistically Once upon a…
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