narrow Han River round rocks briskly

narrow Han River round rocks briskly
tumble through the corkscrew
passing the Taoist temple on the western shore
then finding open relief through boulder gates
to wide doldrums in calm resting places
pond-like glassy pool quiet
egret wading
sandy lines along the shore peaceful shore
a tiny beach for sun-bathed napping, resting 
quenching pack of Taiwanese dogs
downstream winds deeper and steeper
becoming a narrow rapids squeezing
against a concrete embankment squeezing
bottom tier of two leaking waterfalls
adding to the Han under steel floodgates
floodgates abused by factory suds flushed
enter reality 
and wrong-way scooters on bike paths
superimposed cataract mountain views
suffering behind messy streets
of fabricated corrugated warehouses
littering the corridor between river and mountain
from Feng-Yuan to Tan-Zih
hillside mausoleums of death
urn living pitilessly
obstructing nature's beauty 

1-19-14

whatever happened to so and so?

whatever happened to so-and-so?
a question asked much later on,
when life has changed your outlook,
and the world is moving on.

rose petal pocket distracted George,
to fix Zuzu's flower the truth was ignored.
drink to me only with thine eyes,
take not advantage of me like a spy.

whatever happened to the slyly bought chop,
the one that i looked at in that shop?
innocent questioning like a child,
may bring forth an answer not tender or mild.

whatever happened to people you knew?
why would you want to see them again?
if they passed through your life unexpectedly,
why not go make better friends?

the losers who gaze down at their shoes,
and wonder what would have been
if they were patsies that married Lassies,
not hooked-up with Rin-Tin-Tins.

where would you have gone if you had married him?

the world is richer into the future.
better a wisher than in fuchsia.
with places ahead why look back
to pick up the trail of yesterday's snack?

you'll end up limping backwards
to run with the old pack. 

1-12-14

she sees nothing wrong with it

she sees nothing wrong with it, for her own health,
but God helps she who helps herself.
she'll get around whatever in her way,
and ignore whatever bad they might say.
as for me, i look into things,
and read between the line.
she calls me a troublemaker,
i call her colorblind.

i see veins in leaves 500 miles away,
talk with pets and know what they say.
i know what she thinks she's going to do,
and how they will make her do it, too.
she may drink oblivion wine,
but i know how they brew it so fine.
i know when she'll leave before she finds a shoe,
in Dante's hell, i can see the whole day through.

like Louie Armstrong's wonderful world,
innocent beauties of nature swirl.
antidotes are frivolous things,
the silly words of thee i sing.
eager children's glowing faces,
bring me back to all God's graces.
birds o'er the Han sail and swoop,
and help me forget the backhoe's scoop.

(As Mike Nesbit says, "Listen to the band.")

1-10-14 

don't you love acting like a pig?

don't you love acting like a pig
caring nothing about anyone else but yourself?
if he goes away and dies
there's nothing you can do about it...
but i'd rather
see the egrets snowy white
dance on stones in the cool Han flow
stepping high and looking down
for tiny fish before they're found.
i'd rather see three butterflies fluttering by
intertwining in the milky blue sky 
just as a gray-winged sage
sails south like the turn of a page
another page another sight
of peaceful flowing Han delight...
but now, i'll stand up to piss
while to the right of all my bliss
the rude intruder on our bench
perhaps he'll smell my urine stench

1-8-14

the wind is blowing gently

the wind is blowing gently

replenished from exhaustion

I pedal my bike lightly

And follow in proportion

All I had hoped for will be

Not looking at you looking at me

Proud of race proud and free

The rest missed their abortion

The hawk owl with purpose sails

Flies downstream from this circus

The black bird sits on a bended cattail

Resting from the ruckus

Han water fills the pails

Egrets wade for their males

The heron’s bent wing wails

Breathing nature’s purpose

Need I bring binoculars

A camera and a tent

To capture this particular

And come back here again

Away from greedy men

Who rob us with their pens

And merge with all the Zen

For nature’s vast vernacular 

1-7-14