To America for study where few foreigners go
No desire for cultured surroundings, none to behold
From Southeast Asia you came, only to see snow.
In Spring we met, as lovers often do,
Our passions to love when the North winds blew,
In America we loved where few foreigners go.
Visa to expire, any reason to stay?
Graduate on Saturday; a bride by Monday,
From Southeast Asia you came, only to see snow.
Budding career, restless husband a hold,
All gone away but not to your home,
America we left, where few foreigners go.
Paris and castles, then hearth and stone,
With children in succession, never to Rome,
From Southeast Asia you came, only to see snow.
To the States we returned, Manhattan to view,
But trips to the City never to do.
America only heard of, where all foreigners go.
Back "Home" on the Plains, unknown to all,
Thoughts of career the way of mother's call,
Clipping of coupons, mundane wherewithal,
America for life, where few foreigners go,
From Southeast Asia you came, only to see snow.
Grief is a thief
you have urged
to take you away
but with your own
key locks you,
wet with tears,
inside your musty
woolen closet and
turns out the light.
Dark in your trap
shared with moths
you cry long past dry
and choke on all why.
When you know it’s
time (and you will):
burst
the closet open
into a room,
burst
the room open
into a sky,
settle for no moons,
pray past all suns,
inhale from Cosmos.
Not earth are you
but the damp wick
of a future shining.
sitting around the campfire
we listened to him singing
of the old country
one beautiful song after another
suddenly the singing stopped
without saying a word
he got up and left
to lie down and listen
to the unending note
reverberating in the air
and in our hearts
the lullaby he had just sung
for himself
You bring me food, clean my box, stroke my fur
as well you should. You appear to recognize
how it is between us. But sometimes
you seem to want something more, some self-to-self
relationship, almost as if you cannot see the obvious--
You have no tail!
I wouldn’t be so cruel as to mention it. I accept you
as you are: your extraordinary lack of grace,
your useless activity in this room or that,
your running--as bells have trained you--
to front door and telephone.
(Oh, yes, I notice those things,
when I don’t have anything better to do, like
feeling sunlight caress my body or
observing birds on the porch rail or
watching a faucet drip.) So please, let’s just
keep things as Nature intended. It’s not your fault, but--
You have no tail!
Copyright Notice: Copyrights for all of the above poems remain with the individual authors. No work here is to be reused without permission from its author.
