GRASS CUTTER INVASION

Hiding from Invasion

Motor bikes roar to the gate,
men in green, Myanmar men,
arrive masked and ready
carrying machinery heavy and
light: weed-eaters, brooms, rakes.
Grass cutters to mow the lawn. Noisily
dinning the quiet neighbourhood
spreading grass scent raw, warm.

Sunday peace torn apart.
Mr. Spooks will have none of it.
Gone the observation deck
atop parked motor car.
Sun-snooze on best chair.
Gone.
Stretch on the damp grass.
Gone.
Roll in mud.
Gone.

In Hiding

He seeks solace indoors.
He shuffles himself against papers,
keyboard and books on table.

Studying me his muted gaze says,
‘Don’t look, this is not me,
I am not here.’

LOST IN THE JUNGLE

Lost in the Jungle

Lounging in style,
Smiling, and at ease.
Proud trees fearsome and
In sky black, branches sway
Rivers roil, gurgle dark.
The earth beneath me
Rumbles, shivers, quakes.
With frightening grace
Forest creatures fly, leap,
Some crawl, others climb,
Run, roll, and amble by grey.
Cawing, hissing, chanting
Growling, grunting, trumpeting.

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The Dragonfly

Hanging from a Dewdrop

The Dragonfly

Let me hang from this dewdrop

My gossamer wings at rest.

Colours scintillating,

Iridescent eyes aglow

Hum stilled.

Before me drifts a mist curtain.

Floating, veil-like, tranquil

In windless whispers.

Poppies crimson and beyond the green

A shimmer of light refracting

No shadows embedded

In my dawn dream

Haze nearly gone,

Sun rays nearly here

I will not soar yet,

Not yet.

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FISH FUNERAL

Photo from “Are You an Echo”

Alex, my nephew, has never asked me why I am a vegetarian. Many friends, and people I meet, often do and I’m usually reluctant to tell them why. Some of my freinds are vegetarians for religious reasons, and others for health. My reason is neither.

This morning Alex and I were chatting and I chose to reveal my reason.

Soon after our chat I came across this poem by Misuzu Kaneko (April 11, 1903–March 10, 1930)

“It’s staggering generosity of empathy and existential truth conferred with great simplicity” what I feel and believe in, Ahimsa, not to take the life of another sentient being.

BIG CATCH

At sunrise, glorious sunrise
it’s a big catch!
A big catch of sardines!

On the beach, it’s like a festival
but in the sea, they will hold
funerals
for the tens of thousands dead.

(from her collected works “Are You An Echo?”)

AUTUMN LANTERN FESTIVAL

Autumn Lantern Haiku

Autumn moon gazing
Circling the peak tonight
See lanterns twinkle

A Serene Night

Hong Kong 19 Sept 2013

Spooks and Sir Walter Scott

Sir Walter Scott’s Lady of the Lady of the Lake…
dream of her reflection as ‘Time rolls his ceaseless course'(canto III, st. 1)

Book Pillow

A weary cat
A vintage book
A summer snooze
A dream of a lady
Reflected in a lake

Lady Of the Lake by Sir Walter Scott (1830) purchased in 1952.

THE RED CRAB

The Red Crab in the Garden

I came out of river water, I saw,
a cat. Afraid I stopped in awe,
my eyes short matchsticks, scoping.
Quietly I crawled sideways hoping
not to be seen. Fat-cat in ginger coat
Face smiling, and white his throat.
Sunning. Lying on garden seat
sleeping with eyes open, quite a feat.
I crept under an overturned pot,
Green branches breeze shivering hot
I waited. Then keeping to shadows
I moved away to other burrows.

The Red Crab

Veni, vidi, vici…well almost vici

A TIMELESS POEM OF 1908

Short, pithy and perfect imagery.

Ennui
by Marianne Moore

He often expressed
A curious wish,
To be interchangeably
Man and fish;
To nibble the bait
Off the hook,
Said he,
And then slip away
Like a ghost
In the sea.

This poem is in the public domain.

Marianne More

Marianne Moore born on November 15, 1887, in Kirkwood, Missouri, died in 1972.

AN END 21 Dec 20

End of the world is nigh meany did say. Some thought we’d perish in fire and others felt in ice. According to the Mayan Calendar, on this day 21.12.2012,comes the end of an era and an end of one of the three calendars, not the end of the world.

From Robert Frost
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Penang – In the vicinity of Armenian Street

TO DON

Don in Penang
A wooden bench, a camera bag,
beside a tree drizzle laden.
Wind stirred leaves invite
singing sparrows to branches.

Don on pavement old,
rutted, cracked, earthy and
once Armenians walked here
men, women, children. Shadowy
lanes deeply history dappled.

Don in Penang

Don loved. Smiling
relaxed, eyes liquid blue,
no words spoken.
Photographed, history made,
here today, here tomorrow.

Leela Panikar Nov 2012

William Carlos Williams

William Carlos Williams – a poet of great distinction.

The Hurricane here topical and succinct

The Hurricane
by William Carlos Williams

The tree lay down
on the garage roof
and stretched, You
have your heaven,
it said, go to it.

William Carlos Williams, (September 17, 1883 – March 4, 1963), was a family doctor and had a successful literary career as a poet, novelist, playwright, short story writer and an essayist. I most appreciate his economy of words, and the clarity and freshness of his work. He is a modernist and his works portray imagism, subtle and strong.

may 13

A May day. Sunday. Thirteenth.
Waking to perfumed oils and
candles smoky snuffed. From a
a starless dream that belonged
to a night not spilling secrets.
A village dawn no sky, no sun
just storm. Lightning flashing blue
thunder crashing. Blossoms blown.
Seeds sent to other gardens.

Magenta Rain

From above morning sun stolen.
Patio magenta, bougainvillea strewn
Delighting wet film of grey.
Frogs greeting from tunnels hidden.
Rhythmic. Answering calls come
echoing from friendly frogs.