Fall in Korea

Trees ablaze with every fiery rouge, the season announces arrival by setting fire to branches, ferocious and without fear.   Winds icy-cool, blow whirlwinds of dry leaves around dark boots of passing pedestrians. And sometimes there's is rain, grey skies shower teary good-byes to friends who have kept her company since Spring.

One wonders, when nearing that time in life, if to stage such a dramatic Fall like that of Korea's would be preferred.
Or maybe life cycles to its end with no warnings of Fall.  It'll wander carelessly into it like that a Taiwanese Autumn. No big announcement, almost too brief to be noticed. Then you look up and winter falls smack on your face.

I Read to a Parrot

Seeing the parrot in distress,
I began to read aloud, turning the pages slowly so he could catch my every movement.
He eyed my bookmark warily.
I bent myself into a half slouch, half standing position so he could read what I was reading to him, if he could read.
He cocked his scruffy grey head to one side,
listening, as the words tumbled out of my mouth.
A chain to his right claw was there to make sure he was prisoner.
He strained that chain so he could hear better, or maybe aim better so he could take a bite out of my thumb.
He might have been once a handsome bird,
but pressure of being isolated took out what made him sure of what he was.
If a parrot can go crazy and lose defined intelligence,
I guess humans too can walk into their own mind-trap.
If our reality is based on structures of experience and belief,
I come to the conclusion that no life is 100% objectively real, because no one is me.

Based on my belief that I am the reality.

If there was a second life

If there was a second life parallel to this one of ours

in the next millionth of a second lives another me, and another you.

I wonder too sometimes what that he, that she, and that what I would become if fate spun the other way.

I would never know, not in this coming existence anyway.

My wise sister tells me there are no shortcuts with time.

Every deal is fair, non-wavering and universal, an invisible force of law we are bound to.
What you buy with time, you will eventually pay back, with time.

This curious thing, we are the experiment.

Wanna live on a warm weather island

Wanna live on a warm weather island

Wanna grow a free-man’s summer burn

With warm eggs from chickens

And footprints on wet sands firm.

Should there be a raindrop,

I will capture it between flutters of lashes and eyelids

The soft crystal glowprints a story,

You may need to hold me as I bend to listen.

Is it just me, or do you hear it too.

Tomorrow

So when you called me home,
I took off my shoes and padded into the living room.
Where light flickered off the fireplace in waves of orange aurora.
There are familiar shadows and voices, deep murmurs, with intimate frequencies.
I adore.
I adore every inch of your voice, it takes me to places.
Places real and not forgotten. Places existing but un-existing by our timeline.
Take me with you when you go.
I will be light and easy to carry, I promise
I won't cause no trouble at all.

A Season of Summer.

A Season of Summer.

There was a story,
of a bear who fell in love with the ocean.
It was no ordinary ocean, but an ocean of summer that currented to his island
one day,
settling in as a neighbour.

The bear, one day
gingerly tested its waters, padded one gentle paw wet.
The water was salty and cool to the touch.
as if returning home from a long long walk, the bear waded into her.

She was a cool, welcoming, sweet body of liquid that embraced him whole.
If there was danger he ignored, for he had never felt water this way before.
As he lay there adrift, she hummed softly into his ear.
So he listened, dreamily he listened as the ocean sang:


“...so there in the immense blue they loved.
Like fire and like water entwined.
From sunrise to sunset
A cross and a parallel of two connecting minds..."


If there was love so scorching intense for a season,
this was it.  Nature's child bathed in nature love.


It was a season of summer, of love, of the sky painted in a thousand colours.
And as seasons do,
they come,
they stay,
and they pass.

The ocean wept precious stones for the bear to keep.
"Bury them in your heart and seek for their twin stars above,
 for every sparkle of a reflection you find in a quiet night sky
 is me thinking of you from afar."


D.C CA 2015

New

Like fire like red hot wire
Shape the images of your silhouette
It was never returned, songs of innocence
to the librarian who shadowed her glasses away
from the rain.

Thunder.
In California they say it never rains,
but today the drops pitter patter away
spraying and bathing the city in an eerie mist.

Heart half thawed.
Lying on the counter.

Ｗhite Frames

Sunset glaze golden,
shadows tangle with the wind.
Sandy tangos with a sin.

Hands clutched tight, knuckles bear white.
Saliva dancing in the wind.

Suddenly she sees

It was a movie of past and present,
Treasure that film she will,
in white frames.

What other things, but blue that azure blue.

SHARK!!

SHARK!!!
GET OUT!!!!
RUN FOR YOUR FRIGGIN LIVES!
IT'S COMING FOR YOU....

PUNCH THE NOSE!
IT'S FIGHT OR DIE!!!!



HUMANS!!!
GET AWAY!!!
SWIM FOR YOUR FRIGGIN LIVES!
IT'S COMING FOR YOU...

BITE THE SKINNY PARTS THAT STICK OUT!
IT'S FIGHT OR DIE!!!!

HD life

Drinking and feasting, tree house sleeping with vibrating cicadas. Chiayi.

On a scooter, coloured lights slightly blurred, flowing in and out of focus, the cool wind pulling back my hair. Taipei.

Lying in rippling shades of green across an endless empty field, blades of grass tickling my feet. HengChun.

Slow fire burning, dark ocean shimmering in reflection of a full summer moon. Waiao.

Turquoise and stone cool, high waterfalls fall into the depths of my heart.  Jiaoxi.

There was you. There was always you.

That was my life, in HD.

Live Sixties plus twenty

"Happy hippy doe-eyed.

They say its the brown eyed girl.

Summer was her laugh and Spring was in her steps."

 That's what they sang about, the brown eyed girl. It was a song from the sixties.

Devoted, three amateur musicians, reliving their twenties,

make three sixties plus twenty plus twenty plus twenty.

The lead singer's hand trembles a little as he fumbles through the music.

No nervousness there, he laughs.  We're just growing old.

Elephant

The elephant, seventy and humble

strokes the side of a young' un humming a gentle warning

-Humans are hard to trust, most don't treat you equal

Most don't understand we are the same.

-But Momma, I want to make you proud.  

-You'll get hurt, don't let pride take you to places.

You won't like where you end up.

-Momma I won't fail like you, I will be a star.

The older elephant, rocking slightly on the hot sand, her ears flapping tiredly.

I know you are already, a star.  

But let's play a game,

of secrets.

Otter likes his meat fresh.

Otter slaps his chest with a sharp rock.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Oh my god my god this animal knows how to suicide.
Then as the animal rotates its midway float in the water, I see with a better angle.
There in the middle of its shiny flat chest, lay a half broken shell.
CLACK.
The pink shell burst open with a fresh mist of death. Otter claws at it hungrily.

Otter likes his meat fresh.

Romance is like a pen.

Rotate in unison.
Missing parts of a whole, bits of you and bits of me.
Pushing through a tidal wave.  Always late at night it feeds.

I'll be thinking about you.

Don't think now, don't think when.
Romance is like a pen.

I spilt my ink,
leaks where leads a picture then.

Un

Undo the lace of touch that burns an eternity of coal glowing warmth.
Unhear the voice in vibration, one frequency that soothes and excites, me.
Unsee a thousand visions of love. Visions of versions of how it could be.

I can not forget.
So,
it becomes an art of
un
remembering.