December 9th 1981 to 1982

Haiku’
Es by Akai Ryu

‘Spectre of winter
icicles hanging above

; childrens’cold noses.’ |

F- ‘Icy winter frost

; frozen dew drops in the mist
b make snowy diamonds.’

‘Snow on my window
nature weeps in the winter
lone, icy tears.’

 

‘Pattering above
Fe through parted shoji it seems
s _chrysanthenum bloom,
Shielding my garden from rain
like ancient umbrellas.

‘Kiku no hana

kaze ga fukimasu
utsukushii.’
(‘Chrysanthenum blooms’
the wind blows —
picturesque’)

 

Take Twice Daily

Muddy Clouds... and a
Wet wool jacket

But the bus is warm like my livingroom.

“*Look ahead or fall asleep.
Don’t look out the window.
You’ll get sick.’’

The hour-and-a-half begins now.

Some school kids in the back
Yappity (giggle) yap.

An old skids drunk beside me
He smells of urine, sweat
And spearment gum.

I jump out of sleep

A foggy, familiar hotel by the road

My jacket has lot weight.

The Other Press

‘Your plum blosson tears
gently cool us as we sleep
in the orchid boat.’

‘Veiled gates of splendour
quick step through dew wet grass where
crimson flowers bloom.’

‘Oh! How much akin

the peonies in my path

are to you

it seems.

If they were plucked I believe
my garden would melt away.’

‘In my past life I

must have been a summers’ leaf
which lives a short while,

For as my summer sunshine

is taken away, I die.’

‘You are my summer and

and thoughts of your departure
brings the winters’ cold.

My body will be covered

with winter snow and soon, ice.’

Poem by Lina Meagher

 

 

To Beth

Why?

Foolish man ponders not knowing,

that we need only ask,

Who? What? Where? When? and How?

For God,

Being Jewish and learned in Talmudic dialectic
muses quietly back,

Vhy not?

Talmudic dialectic,

Poems by Jody Gilbert

Will?

.Soft fire slowly flows

Across the evening sky.

I watch my shadow as it grows
and wonder why,

It is so hard to get up here
Yet, not to fall.

Soon after flush comes fear,
Which threatens to crush all.
Evening winds begin to rise,
Still soft and low,

And the mist in my eyes
Begs them blow.

As the embers to purple fade,
And wind starts to chill,

The future has not been made
And maybe never will.

 

 

aa