Tag: poetry
Yone Noguchi: The Man Who Brought Haiku to the West
Born in Japan in 1875, Yone Noguchi left his home country for San Francisco in 1893. For a time, he worked as a journalist and domestic servant, but eventually turned his hand to poetry. He had a strong interest in English from an early age, and often adapted Japanese poetry forms, such as haiku, to English. With poetry published in The Lark, a San Francisco-based magazine, and his novels The American Diary of a Japanese Girl (1902) and its followup The American Letters of a Japanese Parlor-Maid, he became the first Japanese-born author to publish in the English language.
Ghost of a Ghost
I can still feel your hand on my throat, I can still smell your scent on my coat, How do I run from a ghost of a ghost? Where is the exit from this twisted road? My nervous system is on high alert, I should kneel down and pray first, My mouth is dry, but not from thirst, You aren’t here to hurt me, but I’m still cursed. You’ve left me a big box with a black bow, Your parting gift to me is your shadow, My brain is now completely drained and hollow, Only emptiness remains in my veins and torso.
Poem: C'est La Vie
I wanna do gay yearning but I'm gonna be real I got nothin' tonight I'm just kinda tapping my feet to the bittersweet beat so glad I could meet you, so glad for the heat that you drive to my cheeks so sad cause I need you like mad but you see through it so casually, and there ain't nothin' here that'd make it worth it, stakin' your heart on me, but oh well, c'est la vie. So uh. I guess I'll just say I think you're really cool!
Poem: Untitled #0
I don't know what I wouldn't give, To know my name upon your lips, Said as more than strangers,
Jiggle and Wiggle
Jiggle a littleWiggle a littleThe sky can be blue and can be purple Jiggle a littleWiggle a littlePrecise like an eagle and patient like a turtle Jiggle a littleWiggle a littleFull time gentle and part time trouble
Poem: Priceless Worthless Speechless Words
I love you, Isn't that so easy? Isn't talk cheap?
At Once
She's sprinting through the meadow,Like I'm watching some sort of horse show,She's flying at the speed of light,Too fast for my human sight. She's not old and frail anymore,She has won her own great war,Twirling freely under the warm sun,Turning everything completely orange! The signature color of her last life,The reason I adopted her that summer night,The color of her coat lured me in,It was a love-at-first-sight kind of thing.
Shake Off the Dust!
Completing #100DaysToOffload twice in under two years, and somewhere along the way the wet clay hardened at the edges. Invisible ruts form inside the habits you love, and there's a difference between a window and a mirror in writing. The hermit crab outgrows shells, including the ones that still fit fine.
i love a good collage, and a poem …
i love a good collage, and a poem to boot. this piece from laura holly charman feels like a anti-self-hlep manifesto. instead of asking for the usual trope of certainty, happiness, or success, she's asking to be disassembled and put back together in a way that only discomfort can do. https://www.instagram.com/p/DUiKzPYCckx/
Knowledge Burns Within
This poem helped me arrived at its truth through a patient accumulation of attention—to silence, to fire, to the small losses that shape us , that sometimes, acts against wills. I found myself drawn to the image of the flame that bends toward its own becoming, a figure for the person who creates not for recognition but for the sake of the act itself. My recurring mustard field memory functions as a turning point, a moment of grace that the I always carry forward into every subsequent attempt to write. What moves me most is the final declaration: that witnessing is enough, that the poem's purpose is not to capture or preserve but to stand present before what passes. This feels like a necessary truth, one I am still learning to inhabit. The poem resists closure because closure would be a lie—the fire/knowledge, inherent want of prose and poetry is always burning, the silence is always speaking, and the work of the poet is to remain attentive to both, to hold them in the same gaze and call it living.
Murderous Crow
Generations of misunderstanding,Genealogy of name calling,Someone else started the cycle,Hurt people continue to hurt people. Your anger’s stirred at my presence,How I am and what I represent,Your resentment increases a hundred-fold,Your heart agonizes at the sight of my soul. What I say is never what you hear,What you hear is never anything clear,I hurt you way before we knew each other,You bled long before this alleged murder.
Ignited
Constantly searching,Intense parameter patrolling,My mind keeps stalking itself,All the right words incorrectly spelt.My hands frantically patting down invisible walls,Climbing over isn't possible; the walls are too tall,My voice is audible only to my ears,My eyes can't find evidence a friend is near.Tears are dispatched as the most sensible choice,My heavy sobbing is the only available noise,There's not one outside light source to help me,These invisible walls offer no capacity!Love, mercy, or ...
Hello Stranger
Hello, stranger on my fence,The sight of you is making no sense,Perching at 8 o’clock in the morning,Is this your usual time hunting?I've heard your music at night,never thought I would see you in broad daylight,Are you here to deliver a message,To signal a transition or a rite of passage? Are you here to give me your guidance–how to survive through the dark nights in silence?how to remain completely still in majestic grace?how to shine so brightly during the new moon phase?Are you delivering a ...
My Red (2)
I walk into my backyard to face my truth,Reluctantly embracing my melancholic mood,I will have a talk with the hummingbird feeder,The red bully who happens to be my honest mirror.What else does it see that I’ve failed to see?What more to explore about us being twinsies?I approach the rascal, still depleted, lying on its side,Out in the open, under the full force of sunlight.It’s more of a tube and less of a tray,But it is surely red and lying sideways,Not far from it, there’s another feeder,I be...
My Red
Lying sideways with its tray empty,The hummingbird feeder is loudly mocking me!“Look at us, twinsies!You are depleted just like me!”I’m so triggered and offended!Its witty comment has some truth in it,This empty feeder is way too daring,Comparing itself to me, a human being!Dusty, but it’s mostly bright red in color,Happy red always lifts my spirit higher, But today my red lacks vibrancy,Is the feeder reflecting my truth back at me?I may not be its rightful caretaker,But my sovereignty is my rig...
Next Person
Walking down a cobblestone path, a symphony of geometry with no heart, a base sound of its foundation, for a property, but not for a person. I keep walking down farther and farther, hoping for a heart around the next corner, The path only knows how to serve its own purpose, It vibrates a different kind of love– heavy and distant, hidden underneath other shapes, I guess the path needs me to be brave, A constellation of circles, triangles, and squares. Its pattern was designed and executed w...
The Witness Who Knew His Name
A Poem Inspired by John 1:19-20 Beside the river's winding thread,Where desert winds their whispers spread,A solitary herald stoodAmong the stones and drifting wood.No throne adorned his humble place,No royal sign proclaimed his grace;Yet multitudes from hill and plainHad crossed the dust to hear his strain. The ancient prophets long had passed,Their voices silent at...
The Missing Piece
If I could give you all my coins, I would. But if I can’t, I have a back up plan. I can pray for you. I can pray that everything that you do will be met with love—the kind of love that doesn’t need proof, the kind of love that helps remove all blocks and obstacles that get in your way. That is not to say you won’t pay if you choose to stay selfish. Your heart will still endure consequences because life is a series of cause and effect, but if you select your thoughts carefully, open your heart...
The Boundary of God’s Sovereign Hand
A Poem Inspired by Job 1:12 Beneath the heights where timeless splendors shine,Beyond the reach of mortal thought and gaze,There stands a throne no darkness can confine,Ancient of Days above all earthly days.The stars themselves are servants of His will,The oceans heed the whisper of His word;The mountains stand because He bids them still,And all...
The Flight Beneath the Watchful Stars
A Poem Inspired by Matthew 2:14-15 When midnight wrapped the hills in solemn shade,And every wind moved softly through the land,A quiet fear through hidden chambers strayed,Like drifting ash no mortal eye had planned.The tyrant dreamed of crowns secured by might,While heaven marked another pathway there;For God still walks within the deepest night,And guards His...
The Hydrangeas
A sea of hydrangeasgreeted me like I was a rockstar,I walked up into the house through the front door,while they lined up to the side on the ground floor!I was lucky they never asked for my autograph, If they did, at the time, it would have been just a draft.I thought I knew myself really really well,Looking back now, life kept me under a spell.At the time, I was so convinced that the habitat of happiness was outside of myself,At the time, I still bought into the theory that I could only be happ...
The Lamps of Heaven Beneath the Voice of God
A Poem Inspired by Genesis 1:14-15 Before the mountains raised their solemn height,Before the seas were taught their ancient song,Before the pilgrim soul distinguished nightFrom all the fleeting shadows born of wrong,The Sovereign spoke across the formless deep,And silence trembled at the holy Word;The hidden vast awoke from primal sleep,And all creation listened to its...
I Want More
I want more, I want more, I want more,Whatever this is is not enough for me anymore!I want more, I want more, I want more,I want gold climbing up my ceiling and silver dancing across my floor. Let the golden ray of the sun shine through the windows,Let the silver glow of the moon whisper her echo,Let the indigo ocean harmonize with the river flow,Let the green forest be the witness where richness grows. I want to see kindness and abundance circulating,I want to see every alternate reality collab...
The Flight Beneath the Midnight Sky
A Poem Inspired by Matthew 2:13 Beneath the weight of midnight’s solemn veil,When Judah slept beneath the iron hush,There came a voice no earthly wind conveyed,A warning breathed through heaven’s hidden gate.The silent chamber where the Child reclinedWas touched by terror riding on the dark,For death had stirred within a tyrant’s breast,And wrath had sharpened...
To Honor Her - My Inner Child
Speaking gibberish,Pretending to say things in English,She looked at herself in the mirror,Hoping one day she might sound like a native speaker.The journey of a million miles,Dreamed by my inner child,She was dancing at Mile number five,Many decades from the finish line. Today I sit in my alabaster cocoon,Dimly lit by the crescent moon,Reflecting on little me in ponytails,Never once she thought she would ever fail.It didn’t matter how many mountains she needed to climb,She never cared; she never...
The Traveler Turning at the Gate
A Poem Inspired by Luke 9:61 A man once stood where twilight touched the hill,Where olive branches bowed beneath the breeze,And heard the solemn Christ who beckons stillThrough dust-worn roads and darkened centuries.The Master’s voice had stirred the crowded airLike trumpet-song across a sleeping land;Yet one remained divided by his care,A backward longing chained within...
Tempered Glass
I’ll hold your hand and your heart,Don’t worry; I’m made of tempered glass,Designed for strength and clarity,Fire and ice transformed me. I have a divine oath to fulfill,Sovereign, sacred and still,I’ve been forged through pain for a reason,But I’m not above you, dear one. I’m here to end the cycle,Hurt people will no longer hurt people,I’ve gone through my evolution,So that I can turn my past into your protection!
Poetry Saved My Life
I snuck off school grounds to write in a back alley, shoplifting Ginsberg and Neruda from Chapters, and I'm alive and writing today because of that. Recent neuroscience confirms poetry activates the brain's dopaminergic reward system, treats anhedonia, and is—more than metaphor—medicine.
Earning My Keep
On the poets who found different terrors inside the phrase 'earn my keep'—Jeong Ho-Seung, Brecht, Heather McHugh, Kim Hyesoon—and the theological dispute over whether grace can be deserved, turning thirty in borrowed time, and the nuthatches outside who do not know the feeder was set out for them.