Talking with Grandfather in his Cluttered Workshop

Am I a hoarder? Surely no!

This workshop might belie that, though…

Full of bins of salvaged parts

of broken things from long ago.

That bin of wheels from broken carts

I though might be replacement parts

for whom a use has not been found

These odd bits, we’ll use for arts?

My thinking here might not be sound.

But I like having parts around

to employ when something breaks

And another can’t be found.

Still… None of this was some mistake!

Imagine all the things we’ll make.

Imagine all the things we’ll make!

Cherita #1

31 Dec 2022

Gaze long

upon this grizzled tangled

weeping woods

no longer verdant

shrouding mist obscuring

any hint of distant spring.

This is my first foray into the poetic storytelling form created by British poet, ai li in 1997. As those who have followed my writing have seen, I have been gravitating toward short form poetry of some years. I am finding the simplicity of capturing a moment very gratifying and am excited to have come across another poetic form with in whose structure I can continue this process.

In the Mirror

His grey-white, old man, whiskers

Resemble, superficially,

The peach fuzz down of his youth,

So often touched and marked upon

By the Thai when he was young.

Alas, that’s where, illusions end!

Gone the smooth as butter skin

Free of blemish, scar, and crease.

Gone the silky velvet feel

Replaced with bristles sharp and stiff

Gone the monks who’d cross the street

To stroke his face and offer blessings.

Perhaps this is the way of things

As one grows old and reminisces.