Short Poems

Don't go climbing up to the blue clouds—
the blue clouds are rife with passion and hate,
everyone a wise man, bragging of know-how and vision,
flattening each other in the scramble for merit and power.
Fish get chowdered because they swallow the bait,
moths burn up when they bumble into the lamp.
Better come drink wine with me,
let yourself go, get roaring, roaring drunk.

Parasol tree by the well, cold leaves stirring;
nearby fulling mallets that speak an autumn sound:
I sleep alone facing the eaves,
wake to find moonlight over half the bed.

The lamp burns blue, everyone asleep;
from their holes the hungry rats steal out:
flip-flop—a rattle of plates and saucers;
clatter-crash!—the end of my dream.
I fret—will they knock off the inkslab on the desk?
worry—are they gnawing those shelves of books?
My little son mimics a cat's miaowing,
and that's a silly solution for sure!

A great wind came forth,
the clouds rose on high
Now that my might rules all within the seas,
I have returned to my old village
Where will I find brave men
to guard the four corners of my land?

The wings of the gull flapping in the dark sea sky, if I turn my shoulder, may touch my shoulder.
The voice of the gull calling in the dark sea sky, if I stretch my hand, may be grasped in my palm.
It seems within my grasp, but I can't see it, probably because the lamp hung from my neck is flickering.
I will blow the lamp out.
And wait for the gull to come and perch on the cinder of the blown-out lamp.

She walked in flowers around my field
As June herself around the sphere

The gods walk in the breath of the woods
They walk by the sounding pine,
And fill the long reach of the old seashore
With colloquy divine
And the poet who overhears
Each random word they say
Is the prophet without peers
Whom kings & lords obey.

I have no brothers & no peers
And the dearest interferes
When I would spend a lonely day
Sun & moon are in my way

Megg yesterday was troubled with a Pose,
Which, this night hardned, sodders up her nose.

To joyn with them, who here confer
Gifts to my Saviours Sepulcher;
Devotion bids me hither bring
Somwhat for my Thank-Offering.
Loe! Thus I give a Virgin-Flower,
To dresse my Maiden-Saviour.