The River in a Dog Year

the river so low fish cannot swim

egret flocks to the fields instead

a man can ford with dry pants

and see mossy spots to avoid the dance

low clouds squeezed dry in the north

hang in waiting wind to blow southward

 the raised mug of Gregorian beer

toasts the eve of  lunar year

dry days done for cleaning house

youngsters on recess fascinated

become adept at renewal learned

midnight fireworks, demons spurned

on the third day do not socialize

we keep our big mouths shut

or risk on the shore loping by

a red dog's wrathful eye  

then the potato harvest is picked

rice is returned to the paddies

what makes folk and farmers happy

a warm spring season of plenty

life dribbles like melting snow in March

pools depleted, beaches deserted

all wait indoors for the thrill

as plum rains replace the winter chill

torrents from mountain streams gush

as the dog year grows from a whimper 

before it learns to bark

take a walk with it in a  park

 until the river gets fed full again

and this year's dog  rears its head

 a fine Taiwanese breed

a mighty canine, indeed 

sleepy days of mosquitoes ahead

the dog this year lays down its fears

sweltering dusk of fruit bat hunter

on a river beach in Taichung summer 

when the autumn moon shines down
upon the abundant River Han
dogs are there to guard creation
protecting notions of our nation

January 31, 2018
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.

stepping on stones in archipelago

hurrah for eight wheels turning
on the snack cart rolling down the aisle
each inch of travel
every sound and sight 
picking wild oat fields clean
as new seeds are sown

how are those new parents and baby?
where is Cebu? Where am i going?
Mandarin spoken in the seat to the left
English pulp novel read to the right
the plane angles thirty degrees upward
outside the terminal window

charging the cellphone at the stand
habitually awaiting no one's call 
better have habit of traveling for fun
two hours air Taipei to Mactan-Cebu 
a thousand miles; eighty more miles to Oslob
road-weaving round trikes in five hours with luck 

Bisaya speaking Philippines
when a good day is stepping on stones
in crystal waves of archipelago 
far from horse latitude attitude
tonguing each bubble in foamy caps
this is a good day! 

January 14, 2018
www.readingsandridings.jimdo.com
Copyright © 2018 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.