a snapshot of jumpers in mid-air leap

a snapshot of jumpers in mid-air leap
an object momentarily paused 
before falling back to earth
the dark side of the moon whipped around
space mission half complete
it is so unlike an empty bowl 
important nothing there
a runaway locomotive down an incline
or coming down from a high on dope
not the journey more than the destination 
or working months for a one week vacation
boomerang reaching its tossed return
solar solstice that cannot be undone
vinyl 'b' sides that CD's made obsolete
winter break's end that students hate
August first with summer half gone
a marriage that goes through the motion
when love has flown
and the family is broken
a frog prince transition by magical potion
falling action after the novel climax
a card mailed to a friend
a package tracked after it is sent
snapped plastic crackle when too far bent
renewal of spring after winter
autumn after summer
winding and unwinding the mind
eyesight that comes to the hopelessly blind
a thought never thought of until the end
the surprise awaiting you around the bend

12-7-14

winding river, never straight

winding river, never straight
straying from the big debate
at the motor humming factory
that does not use your energy
just pours into and weakens the river

the next eventuality around the bend
will reach me like a dear old friend
revelry snaps ham radio's waves
a dinner for the Jewish slave
i will snorkle shallow, scuba deep

by vermillion cliffs of Page made deep
the trough gets worn down, rivers seep
like the moaning at open microphones
zoned for fossils' broken bones
at home in red room all alone

as Crusoe, Fogg, and Polo do
Friday, Passepartout, Nicolo & Maffeo are you 
a journey unmeasurable in distance or time meant
not gold or spices or elephant
worth fines levied against me to be on my way

on my way like the rivers that people all pass
a doer, a giver, a home, and a lass
the shore lined with circuses
the onions many surfaces
by living have i done to deserve this

so wind, you Han River, onward wind 
please to us be gentle and kind
though squeezed by sooty motor roads
and channeled by heavy overloads
thy will be done, as it is, like heaven

11-22-14

in honor of today's fresh air

in honor of today's fresh air 
ride the Han without a mask
drink the oxygen in
let the wind seethe
around my knees 

with respect to rare stars seen at night
look forthrightly though opened eyes
the dark blue contrasted with twinkling bright
sore vision's remarkable sight
not squint and rub

even bursts of burning hay 
in the azure blown away
trash of Buddha ash dissolved
skyward silky streaks of soot
in pants of heaven pockets

the Han in khakis slipping away
stops to reconsider 
in irreversible streams 
in dreams it seems
then blue skies turn to gray

leaves on distant mountain trees
i'm petrified to look
are gone again before the dawn
sharpness being not the norm
once was there once more

11-16-14

my good life has a lot to do with yours

my good life has a lot to do with yours
if it is not your period
or the coffee brewed
then it must be you making me bitter

i see your friend in Hokkaido 
vacationing with her husband
when you couldn't book us a room, you said
yet you made plans to visit Tokyo without me

you dressed like it was cleaning day
to see a free outdoor concert
and wore the same costume
for the Halloween party afterwards

without clear plans or directions
you scoff at my suggestion for a snack
but stop at a night market on the way
without a map for getting back

there's cigarette smoke in the night club
you're bothered by it and then
instead of doing your part to make it smart
find it better to do nothing again

noise i made chasing the cat off the tree
woke you up from your sleep
was more annoying to you
than the cat was to me

your midnight was noon in an e-mail you wrote
with our daughter cold in an unheated furnace
it left you off the hook 
instead of getting you by the throat

thinking how lonely i am without friends
at least, unlike you, i'm trying to meet them
i'm stuck with some creeps that deny me
and peers that blow me off 

the windy north-westerlies kick up the soil
from rice patties harvested and barren
i'm kicking up dust in my yearning
while the fire inside is churning

my good life to do
has less to do with you
it is not the life i would wish
but you're not putting enough on my dish

my life, like piss on an elevator floor
goes up and goes down with nowhere to roll
unlike rushing waters near the shallow Han
or nooks where still waters run deep

the butterflies scorn me
the pigeons cannot fly into the wind
it makes my life wonderfully windy
i sail on the breeze of my wife 

whichever way she blows me

11-3-14

does a bird have to fly near your face

does a bird have to fly near your face 

to bring you back?

does a dragonfly need an arrow to point
meaning "follow me?"





you cannot be distracted by nature
only returned to
away from what has distracted you
like measly meddlers
muddy boot prints
art sales and royalties
starring attractions               being famous 
or unknown
progress
or regression
instead of 'being here now' suggestions

through mouths to feed
submissions to 
oppressions abounding
requiring resounding fortitude
to pass through the night
when nothing seems right
and catch the distraction
that workers might

10-27-14

it's not very clear

it's not very clear 
how the hand-driven plow
turns the soil gray
how it putters and smokes
stumbling along the patties where 
bonfires of rice stalks ash the land
send the smoke sky high
like in a bedroom at midnight
choking while we're toking
on hits and bongs and incense burning
smoke hiding abstract smoke signals
only scooters fumes here, uninspired
un-inspected
like cigarettes drooping from motor mouths
oily smoke from mothers on wheels
godly smoke blown heavenward 
and acid smoke from across the strait in China
smoke in dead air pockets
choking mountains
cataract mountains
fumigation
egrets and dragonflies
in need of ventilation

my son's pain doesn't affect her

my son's pain doesn't affect her
to sympathy or love
it tarnishes the warmth 
that took a weekend to brew
the intruder she confused 
as i fended and took a bite
what did she place on the table
but bitter herbs 
and waited to hear me say 'how sweet'
as my son shuffled back to the basement
no natural interest at all

what made the tears so salty 
with a cross to bearably bear
she coexisted
his sisters insisted
grandma and auntie resisted



so she threw her pain into my lap
for me to drain away
after years of saplings
as tall as the trees would grow
still no affection
just a drag from undertow
couldn't see two crazy lovers
loving each other crazily
not unlike her and me
and the love that bore fruit in time

10-6-14

am i made whole by this delivery from Brooklyn

am i made whole by this delivery from Brooklyn
as migratory birds flock south over the Han
over the mountains of Taiwan
i am grounded
not the movable type
books that follow me till death we part
with pages that swing 
from the past into the future
look at all the migratory verbs
and me, like a dragonfly of indecision
hovering in tandem with my rider
resting on pages of unpublished rhyme

10-3-14

landscape so luminous, scornful of accessories

heat feels hotter in a sweat-matted t-shirt
breeze doesn't pass through clogged pores
egrets are returning
although i feel this burning
they stand tall and cool on Han River shores

as i consider doing a strip tease
for the fortunate couple with their bikes
long-sleeved and pants
to keep their yellow bodies white
dangling legs over ledge of Han River dykes

as egrets eight stand and wait
alas, a cloud has come to offer shade
what for do i hesitate
when i can excrecate from
exaggerated heat my t-shirt has made

makes her hot, wants a drink
they get up to dress heads, hands, and necks
sees my torso, what does she think
her companion rides off and leaves her 
what the heck! 

i'm
too sexy for my shirt
too sexy for my bike
va-va-va voom
"the body is everything"*
'sfoga o schiatta'**

*Samuel Butler
** Italian - 'relieve yourself or burst'

9-26-14

the choice is ours how we're going to pay

the choice is ours how we're going to pay
someone in New York says we owe
just as sure as we came here
baby, we just had to go

what the i ching said 
about letting a child go home
with a choice we heard in her head
she did not say "no"

that filthy communal house with"A"
made us both say "Oh!"
we can wait to sell another day
after the winter's snow

let the wife talk with Kelly
what is right under the circumstance
she cannot have it both ways
there are no answers; only dances

choose as the feeling suits you
we took our house "as is"
benefitted from its conveniences
that is where we chose to live

then evil entered at an "open house" sale
a stain that will remain
without a chance to defend ourselves
even the new owners will have the pain

no one to defend us in absentia
move on and outward, Amanda and Alberta
let the blackmail pittance afford the city
does it pay? ask Amos and Hosea

9-25-14

an excellent two days of a seven-day weekend, thwarted

an excellent two days of a seven-day weekend, thwarted
from my own desire, none of my own undoing
with flexibility and plan "b" trappings
Funk and Wagnalls takes a radical turn right
after entering the Bashi Channel
not radical enough to spare my plans for Taipei
or avoid high speed rail cancellation 
no Frankenstein browsing in Ding-Hao 
or harmonica poetry performance at Red Room 
or peoples' environmental climate march
because of the changed environment

it will be bags of ramen noodles for us
with little flavor packs of tasty gutter oil
and endless loops of typhoon trajectory on TV
to keep the palm trees on the patio
tied to the stakes around the ledge

bring in the brawny beach chair projectile
and warm the chair cushion in front of Nala
Nala who lies comfortably between keyboard and monitor
as, from this bench, i bid farewell to the last Han River egret
that cackles a coughing whoop
and catches a cacophony of breezes
before it rains off to its shelter
when the torrents outside of lashing winds  never end
bending banks of thistle in a counter-clockwise clash
ripping bushes of weeds and  trees 
by their desperate dangling limbs

until the sun, washed of smog, reappears o'er the mountains
and a dozen posts have been added to my blogs
do things get picked up, put back, or carried away
on the day after the day
like Scotland Scots, unaware of the terror
who fail to break from England away

9-19-14

white ghost i am in a yellow land

white ghost i am in a yellow land
sticking out then blending in
they look at and leave me alone
ignored by those who think they know better
even other ghosts lost in their own white weather

with invisibility comes privilege 
red lights to ride through, extra respect
no one to punish when i stick out my neck
places to go where no one would venture
in my own time with special adventure

trailblazer pioneer disguised as a refugee
looked up to, admired, they imitate me
that foreigner who gets away with all he dares
i dare them to fight for and win their own pension
then maybe their women would pay them attention

who made the losers they just won't admit
this is their land and they made their own shit
everyone's got to fight to be free
instead of foolish worry about losing face
the right time is now and this is the place

who sits by the river watching nature evolve
alone on a bench unresolved
a ghostly light emanates from this spot
under the lighthouse as still as a mouse
this ghost can agitate if they'd be aroused

restful white ghost sit down on your seat
this bench is long enough for others you'd meet
their hearts their eyes can see their own minds
a friendly ghost can be inviting and kind
if only they'd get off their scooter's behind

to be so used to being a ghost
but inside still a human host
i wonder if anyone will answer my call
if anyone will ever show up at all
they won't and i'm not disappointed

for they don't need me and i only do myself
unless they schedule a payment to me
i have nothing to them to teach
only learn to ignore and pretend my comfort
at being like them any ghostly color

i could post to Facebook or meet them face to face
one is more convenient, both leave the same place
on my one with past friend to assure me
no new friends to invisibly abhor me
only music and the river keeping me afloat

they won't come, oh no they won't
if i go they'll surely laugh
to be entertained by a ghost in costume
one dimension, suddenly apparent
only my lover sees me transparent 

9-15-14 

wind stirs the slumbering Han heading southbound

wind stirs the slumbering Han heading southbound
you can almost hear the thunder of a distant train
moving slowly behind a heavy mixing engine
boxcars passing as clouds thicken above
and shadows they are lifted off of you

why haven't the egrets returned yet
to catch the fries and return to nest
soon the assurance of autumn on tropical terrain
will draw them back to wade in
as rippled water round vacant turtle stones

blow you bold-faced northers
circulate the primal airs you've come to recover
push us along to the next song of merriment
as drunken work crews cut you down to the sediment
and beauty of forward life this season has begun 

9-11-14

squeezing hard to eject the shit

squeezing hard to eject the shit
one month's Brooklyn will do the bit
today like every day in Taichung
ain't bad living day by day
with a turtle on the rock in the Han
solidarity
with the billowy birds in the Han sky-way
solidarity
but i am lonely for humanity
not for myself alone
all the defeaters throwing bones
which could back me against the wall
with their howling wind
leave me blown and harass my mind
i don't want to be alone
if you are kind
dying to be loved
if you are kind
if i can't spend my time with love
i guess i must be blind
the Lord's enough love on the river
on the river to unwind
sitting here in the Taichung sun
contemplating your mind

9-4-14

a foul wind limps o'er the Han

a foul wind limps o'er the Han
in mockery, pool stagnant
begs to be led to any tumultuous moving
as the noon day sun canopies milky shading
despite the doldrums un-aroused

Han waters never reverse upstream
unlike navigable canals 
with mule teams pulling barges through locks
with glimmering teeth skyward gleaming 
though through putrid surroundings 

it doesn't dry up in riverbed ruts
for the weather's always changing
in the strait ahead
when the world disguises you as an open sewer
egrets cannot be fooled


 



they penetrates its glassy surface
they patrol their bounty gaining eyes
growing fins and filtering gills
when timelessness beckons
egrets will be fulfilled 

as naked belly laborers languish siesta 
they swoop to natural correctness
restless
and bore through stinky thick air
as landscapes are broken down

9-5-14

sitting sweatingly on a Han River bench

sitting sweatingly on a Han River bench
alone without your problems
beyond the reach of evil stench
and never-retired wobbling 

weeds grown high along the river banks
dragonflies in tandem on bicycles built for two
mating their fate no hesitation in the ranks
flow with nature, not with me or you

these simple verses can get no worse
till critics lead the way
i'm sitting here with no one near
and will so every day

caterpillar, why haven't you butterflied
with summer on the wane
you are pretty enough in your leggy pride
from me get no disdain

with three seeds planted 
no gout no doubt no pain
i'll wait these months to be enchanted
in colored winter rain

i may be weak but not a freak
that sits on a velvet throne
deserves and serves that servant's leak
the grizzle on the bones 

as Moses up the mountain for tricks
as weaklings drool below on idols
so rode i up with Bungalow Bill hicks
Han waters aren't tidal 

Tallon or Turton flirtin' or hurtin'
may greet my book with jealous looks
truth is skirtin' Richard Burton
like Elizabeth Taylor's schnook

two seasons sow rice and one of potatoes
in heaven's twain i shall remain
with Belafonte's Day-O
without cuts, lacerations, or sprains

i sing the idiocy of Whitman's fidelity
the illusion of union without democracy
America is not of it, just living shitty
of any man's right to liberty

hey, Godly cricket, pass through my wicket
over the bike wheel and leaves of grass
no sign at all, not even a picket
this feeling, too, shall pass

down on funky funky Broadway
there is a corporate headquarters
that egrets wouldn't shit passing anyway
here on the Han there are no borders

what one wants is not what one says
sun shines as long as loud as egrets cry
sing the blues with Billy Holiday
across Taichung's milky skies 

boring through, the great escape is made
hello birdie, make me worthy
every song a Han River serenade
wash away the rotted dirty 

9-1-14

as the sun sets over bat-tossed winds

as the sun sets over bat-tossed winds
and typhoon tailing clouds disarrayed
the muddy Han gulped too fast mountain waters
blue liquid sapphire glinting in the Taichung night 
undetected across the Strait
er-hu playing sadly in the torrential rain
at the Peng-Hu crash site
ruining itself in haste
ultraviolet blinded pilot

frogs pucker and kiss the evening air
as i rest my eyes where no headlights show
snakes emerging

The Han River Estuary

dangerous turds of evening dog walkers
before the next spinning wind lines up
to pass through Taiwan customs 
like day-laborers on to the next job
unrolling tarps of advertisement
that didn't tear or fly away

7-24-14

a stray typhoon cloud inches its shadow

a stray typhoon cloud inches its shadow
onto a mountain o'er the river
translucent moon comes soon overcome
in daylight butterfly blue crystal wings 
the sun setting on my western shoulder

whipped counterclockwise towards Japan
rolling over the Marco Polo Bridge
from oil rigs off the coast of Vietnam
two Chinas agreeing without question
the typhoon's headed in the right direction

as the Taiwanese do as they please
rain smashed winds blow heavily northeasterly
farther and farther from an orphan's homeland
i am happily left alone on the Han
to stay squarely in a beautiful island day 

7-8-14

people living in competition

you're the sure i push off of
to get my boat a-rowing
you're the land that doesn't understand
how pebbles in the sand are blowing
you who i invite to get the story right
unwelcome to your call
i'll fuck you up in a fight
and enjoy this lovely day
of all your useless things
you buy and you don't need

i'll always have this special day
you can never sell or criticize it

of all the men and women of sex lust
alone i move for no other reason
but to show my children how to earn
you're not my kids who'll never learn
humanity runs away from my heart
when you don't see the need for me
find yourself someone you trust
who thinks you have potential
i have nothing to do with your direction
you're only living in competition

7-8-14

building up and letting down

a dream that has got to come true
dream when there is nothing else 
Thursday's July 3rd, Morrison Memorial Day
open mike at Salut Pizza 
time to read "The Lord & New Creatures"
Han River poem and other features
tonight at the Terroir Wine Cellar 
announce Forgotten People 
a dream to come true may not have you
about that, no one can do

consider taking serious seriously 
when royalty takes their thrones 
be the minstrel reflecting worn faces
milking the cash cow of half and half truths
alone insulting oneself scenarios 
on merry ways to peter out of earshot
believing the fraud one's become
till the fraud is flawed and one's ignored
by the butter churning without clientele 
with power spurning  they leave and wish you well

6-29-14

overgrown weeds wave bending northerly

overgrown weeds wave bending northerly
egrets all have flown
drunken crabber's empty nets
now chewing rocks in the wilderness
grinding teeth with July approaching
breathing the fumes as the train vacates the station
dismantling nests in unused summer vacation
when there's finally a break through
the backhoes return to start it over
welcome the typhoons
summer playground, the devil's hometown
the cooling shower of passing clouds
whetted in retirement
 being here and now
let the pests be pestered
i don't worry
the egrets shall return 
when the nest's packed up
vacant for someone else's turn
food we'll fish for in the Han
after the sunny Taichung sun shaded
summer rain coming down around 
a beauty that astounds  

6-23-14

perhaps i'll have to move on

perhaps i'll have to move on
keep travelling before i settle down
move around before
i can't move no more
in thunder from the south
rumbling low and loud
two days without crescendo
suggesting to me
i'd better flee
hodgepodge of gray blue skies
whisked northerly awaiting
clear skies following the dappled sun
and the thunder only
a ballast factory
churning boulders into pebbly rocks
like a pie baking
soon ready to be boxed
or is the hint of moving on
caused by
dangerous familiarity
sickening inevitability
out of desire to freshen the seat 
by finding another place
without burning houses
or slamming doors behind
by not answering when someone knocks
and asks
"who's home?"
who asks
the silhouette of the man across the Han from me
"hello, following me?
i must be going."
if the thunder continues to roll
and there are too many signs to move on
with hundreds of other places to go

6-17-14