The old town of Guangzhou
Falls
In stark contrast,
With its downtown.
The effect of the years
Clear to the eye
Like Son and Grandson
In the downtown,
There are
vibrant lights
From the skyline
That scatter
As it reflects off
Of the ripples
In the Pearl River But not the old town
You take the metro
And probe your way
Through
Like a mouse
In a maze
To reach
Your destination,
But not the old town.
There are
restaurants
situated on rooftops.
With chairs woven
Out of bamboo
Around wooden tables,
Lit by
Flickering candles, and
Fairy lights on drapes
That hang
From its canopy.
But not the old town.
In the old town,
There are old men
In white vests
Playing mahjong
Around raw stone tables.
There are
stores,
With white marble walls
And signs written
In unsimplified characters
Try, the spicy
ginger juice which
Crashes into
Creamy milk, this
Concoction
Leaves you
Craving
For more
There are
Tea houses
With hip-and-gable rooftops
That served people
From the last
Imperial dynasty.
Here, the sweet
And smooth
Keemun Black Tea
Leaves a malty aftertaste
And tells a tale
Of the city’s past
Do come to Guangzhou. It is a place,
That beckons
The whole world
To come over.
Promise… anticipation
driving down the windy roads
somewhere…
deep in New Hampshire.
The town of Wolfeboro,
surrounded by
alluring
Lake Winnipesaukee.
At last,
The dirt spits up from the back
As we make the journey down,
the everlasting dirt road.
To the home,
that I have been counting down the days
to return to.
To the home,
where I can leave all my worries behind…
It’s like a scene
out of a movie
standing there,
with bags in hand
holding a blatant
gaze.
Admiring
how it is possible
that one place can
fill my heart so endlessly
Sitting at the waterfront
seeing splashes
and smiles emerging
from little campers faces.
Joy
and family
memories
that will never be forgotten.
For when the darkness comes, through the
streets it lurks.
The long bulky figures slowly disappear
inside.
In the alleyway they go, rolling past it all,
nothing to see but shadows
In the alleyway they go,
rolling past it all,
nothing to see
but shadows
Appearing anonymous to the people outside
oblivious, all is dingy within.
All are perfectly lined up, randomly with no
avail or order.
Dim lights make their way on the dirt path.
Engines running,doors slam, and all silence
follows.
The back, stalks a mountain, which can
faintly stare upon you.
Up the top of it, every movement is visible.
All slippery ice, hardened soil, and dead
leaves.
Early morning rises, and the figures come
alive. Exiting with notion. One tails the
other.
The yard drains of them, all empty… it is
what it is.
I relax on the wooden dock fishing
with little Jasper, thinking
not about the four-hour drive
not how the school year is starting in a few weeks
or if I will be on dish duty after dinner.
Nothing is on my mind.
Simply the tender air of the sun
mixed with the calm breeze of the lake.
We race to the floating platform and plunge
into the open water holding on to the rush.
Others join us after hearing our cries of
glee and laughter.
We have been through so much together;
through death that came too soon, through many
days and nights in this old rickety house, through storms
that almost collapsed the trees around us.
Some of us have gone, but we have stayed strong
held each other’s hands through the worst of it
and remembered the best of it.
But today while those thoughts are in the back
of our heads, we sing and dance
to the music that we create with our hearts.
In life, there is little room to be hardened with sadness
or to be so enraged that one cannot speak.
So today we are grateful for the days to come
and the ones we will spend here in this blessed place.
Sun is glaring.
Small waves brush
Against the sand.
The children laugh
In the lake that is filled
With people and toys.
Pull into the rocky driveway.
Unbuckle our seatbelts,
And run indoors.
Quickly getting dressed,
And grabbing floaties.
We most likely don’t need.
Painful feeling of
Pebbles digging into my feet.
Which fades,
Once we plunge into the lake.
I’m a linear surface with no reflection,
But I have many bumps,
From paint splatters
To dents.
You can stare at me,
Throw things at me, even
punch me
And they think I don’t care.
They stick nails
in me,to hang
heavy pictures on me.
They stick plugs in me.
I do all of these things,
Yet I get no attention,
Cause I am just
Another wall.
Your
floppy ears
and fluffy golden fur
Sunday evenings
seven thirty
Seinfeld on CBS
You
on my lap
Body curled
paws tucked
Your
eyes closed
soft snore
My sadness
soft cured by
Your
infinite supply of love
and kisses
This is just to say
I am sorry I have upset you.
I am sorry about what I said.
I am sorry for what I did.
I didn’t mean to hurt
your feelings, to hurt
you in anyway, so
for that
I am sorry.
But to be fair,
let’s remember
that you
started it.