simple poetry

A chinese poem

chinese tree poem

The street light turned red
two raindrops rest on someone’s shoulder
 

a stream of cars down the slopes of noon
I and the minutes, parts of clouds


the far-away phone rings November
these business suits still smell of rivers


shadows born from high buildings
all is peace in a busy day.

 

.

Nihilistic Poetry

fifth floor

fifth_floor

I decided to live on a fifth floor

because I enjoy viewing things from

afar

most afternoons

I watch down

on the swaying of the city

the moody strangers              

the angry cars

a fifth floor is a nest

seated on the branch

of a decaying tree

sunsets are my favorite

when the ooze of night

drips over the frightened lampposts

quickly the children of the day

retreat to their smaller caves

on a fifth floor

there is not much to do

but watch the ambiguous expressions

of pedestrians

and listen to the tired screams

of ambulances

while the cool autumn air

sinks

between the concrete-walled

canyon

I moved to a fifth floor

so I could have thoughts

like these

and to never

become

one of them.

 

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

Stop

Stop.

 

Please stop.

 

Leave whatever you are doing right now,

 

and do me a favor.

 

Look out outside your window

 

(I truly hope you have a window)

 

to some small gilded leaf in the sun.

 

Stare at it,

 

there’s nothing romantic,

 

poetic or beautiful

 

about that leaf.

It is just there

 

motionless or

 

swinging with the wind

 

it is just there

 

almost too fragile

 

almost too irrelevant

 

but it is there.

 

It is drunk with something

 

it has something we don’t.

 

It is not brighter or duller than us

 

but it has more depth

 

than our little lives.

Nihilistic Poetry

Chronology

I was reading a poem by Bukowski

       It is called “jam”

I read a few lines, pondered

        watched outside the window

then resumed reading, while I was still

     light-blind

suddenly, a tiny speck on the page

       moved

it was green, it was alive

as my vision came to normal

I could see the insect

– wasn’t sure which kind –

the little one walked on the page

stepping over an “s” first

then a “w” but turned back

then came down to the word

      “same”

and headed to the edge of the page. 

I finished the poem, and thought to myself:

 

“This Bukowski is really good” 

 It was the first “Buck” poem

I ever read.

With a simple line

I have to start somewhere 

   with a simple line, a simple word

with a message parallel to

                         despair.

From what premise should we start ?

         That the world is seriously important

or that it is unimportantly foolish.

              Take your stand,

there is no final stance

          a long-winded illusion

appearing and disappearing

         at times irrefutably real

other hours, come as falling dream’s ash.

       I have to end somewhere

with a simple line, a final sigh.

Nihilistic Poetry