the guy that did my taxes is dying
passed the fee to the subsequent
left me here to do it alone
where it is good to be alive
when not reminded of taxes or death
the river runs so sweetly in the sun
simple falls and little white water
swaying weeds in gentle breeze
butterflies for staring eyes
catches me downing darkened wells
every country falls apart
never take demise to heart
follow the floating ballerina
dancing across the stage
like wing tips of egrets that flap away
fragile branches bend
under a tiny bird's weight
wind-up Jack for popping the weasel
before it is too late
written in the fifth estate
February 28, 2017
where are the egrets seen yesteryear
salting River Han with caws, swoops,
flaps of graceful span of wings
accordion necks and pencil legs
veiled since summer's wane
return they would, thought i
after lunar new year's crackle curtailed
fishing their livelihood days
standing knee-deep, sharp-eyed
but still they are not here
gone with the turtles that sunned on boulders
only the river looks the same
course unchanged no bulldoze wrath
overgrowth tall of weeds and grass
yellow and white butterflies meandering interwoven
but the Han looks lonely without egrets
not a feathered one in sight
left to distraction am i
overcome by out-stretched serpents overnight
silver-green scampering over a suddenly sunny ledge
under a saturated sky of smoke
that has given up being refreshed
hurtling to a dilapidated mess
what some men's greed of nature made
driving egrets from the Han
no longer greeting a fruitful dawn...
i beg thee Lord, renew, do not forsake
leave us not in the throws of serpents
the Han holds its breath awaiting an answer
the river trickles its flow until it knows
egrets, please come back
or i will have to find you go
wait; i see a young one flying north!
be patient; i see a young one on course
with rice paddies being seeded
i see another beauty flapping her white wings
another hopping boulders along the shore
reconnaissance
it all makes sense
coming back for more
let the ambulance race the scooter
the egret wades and waits
lets bitter water pass through her legs
for plum rain replenishment
she bends her young neck down to eat
for sustenance
with whetted beak
February 20, 2017
https://taichungjournal.blogspot.tw/2017/02/
international-holocaust-remembrance-day.html
no one alive on my side
in the seats to the left and right
victims not here to speak
Jews from the twentieth century
Muslims from the twenty-first
all else wear business attire
all else came with friends
even the rabbi of remembrance
how unknown i am in his prayer
how thankless to him my outreach
obsessed with his in-reach
how long will antisemitic Israelis
prophetically walk with Christian millennials
a path worn deep
in a trench along a wall
where murders repeat
without missing a beat
February 19, 2017
a presidential heartbeat away from potatos (sic)
all the mad high-hatter candidates
in quicksilver inaugurations
out to the races in fields of spuds
in their winter of homeland security
we, the people, picked them all!
from McCain to McDonald's
tiny ones coated and roasted
couch potatoes diced and grated
Mister Potatoes dressed and played
boiled in Russian borscht
or tossed into an immigrant salad
stewed with Saint Pat corned beef
and when the chips are down
dusted with artificial favors
salted and fattening
after to market they go for profit
the people descend to the overrun fields
vetted and left for dead
get their fill of rejection
small and scarred
too many crying eyes
green-skinned refugees
collateral damage in the wasteland
under a chilly gray American sky
growth stunted and ravaged
never to bloom or flower
only rot
and yet
from the underground
seeds that were supplanted
will rise again
in scavenged victory gardens
February 1, 2017
river terrarium drenched in milky sunlight
like a faded Kodachrome
butterflies white and yellow, outstanding
as putter-by's on motorbikes blend invisibly
while my bicycle and I rest on a riverside bench
breathing fragrances of burning weeds sweet
smoke of it replete
addendum to our natural life
like the warmest winter there could be
in a complicated world of conveniency
that increases our cost over time
has little redeeming value
and only fosters resiliency
survival skills
for an otherwise native River Han
dykes of which to help the farmers
prevent deterioration of fields of crops
benefiting me with my back to the road
well-equipped man in a modern world
with such a heavy load
in case i need an escape to nature
January 8, 2017
sitting on laurels and acting hardy
is no way to enjoy a new year's party
there are backstabbing friends who need an inch
friends who love you in a cinch
crippled in last year's Jerry marathon
of abbots who heard Costello's mistrals
gone homo on empty stomachs
smartly read book-Marx too hot to Trotsky
waving rainbow flags with white backlashes
impolite eyelashes
stopping behind the judge's bench
testifying their rudeness
through all the newness
like an unwatched television overnight
a travel writer's infomercial's
pressing need to be public
on way to his next global mess
when the river knows best
in all weather flows
day and night throughout the years
listen to its trickling stream
through sound bites of motor tires
drowning a countdown video chat to Connecticut
Messenger image dark-orange and ghoulish
set against lush green Taiwan gardens
backdrop of this American escapee
in a place where wonders never cease
and wisdom never ends
turning the calendar up
return to day one again
new year's day in warmth
hazy breeze sifting the air
lifting the bicycle into outer space
spiked canteen of permanent dreams
an all-star on deck with assisted vision
unmasked suggestion box glistening
on the wings of yellow butterflies
fluttering by in pairs of proximity
just like my lady and me
January 1, 2017
crystallize the dew in cold breezes
as it does over tiny Kyoto roads
into a chilled Nijo-jo Castle moat
rippling green lichen to its stormy sides
looking like raked lines of pebbles
around Shitennoji Temple, Osaka
lines of sunshine in Golden Pavilion pond
shingled roof of Buddah Hall in Todaiji, Nara
far from the melted exhaustion
of deep-fried Taichung night markets
like smoke from rice-stalk bonfires, rising slowly
shrouding mountains in smog-saturated air
obscuring the fine gal she would become
a widowed bride's dalliance
upon remarriage
Dec. 19, 2016
