Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Between Here and There

The snow is almost gone but for patches

that want to see the red

buds of maples on the hillsides: the sign
of ending and beginning.

The changing of seasons is a constant
sermon I need.

By all that cannot be denied I say,
"Yes " again

forgetting and rememberng like the patches
of snow in melancholy lingering.

-Byron Hoot

Wednesday, January 20, 2021

Lest We Forget

It's the season of discontent;
winter makes it moreso.
The implications of victory 
and defeat fearful, balanced
in a scale we do not know what
is being measured knowing
only our future swings like a pendulum
that's lost its rhythm.
Anger, regret, sorrow seems to be 
the trinity blessing, cursing our prayers 
as prayers have turned to a dark
pentecost of lies spoken and believed
as we are asked to be ideologies 
strippping us of our right and privilege
to say, ``I am that I am."
Our leaders follow  the money 
and we cannot follow them
and yet we try:  the disfiguration
of language transforming into crippling acts.
It reads, We the People as power brokers,
like medieval torturers, put us 
on the rack.  No political party can make
us who we are, no laws can make
us behave in harmony;
we need but remember who and what
we are  and not forget I am you, you are me
for all eternity.  No political party
can improve upon that.
We the People is how it begins;
let us hope there is no end.

-Byron Hoot

Friday, January 15, 2021

Knockin'

For days I've been hearin'
what I can only describe
as a fist from eternity against
my roof, my doors, the sides
of my house, my truck.  Distinct
is the sound of those knuckles.
I fear, like a doctor hammering
my bare chest with two fingers
to see if something's wrong,
my heart will be opened
and those fingers from that fist 
will drum a song waiting to see if
I know how to dance,
not waiting too long, finding out
if I'm a dancin' fool
or just an ordinary kind.

-Byron Hoot

Monday, January 4, 2021

Drift

So let it be,
forget the twilight,
skim the clouds,
lower your body.
A piece of leaf falls,
drifts--
lifted by the cold sea water
in the boundless night.

Stars over the horizon,
too dull however,
to illuminate the dawn.
The legendary lighthouse 
hides on the foggy cliff,
its sight shivers.

Wind sighs
over and over
with its hoarse throat.
Sands hard to hold
finally gone with wind
back to the vast…

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Summer 2019
2019


年7月31日



就这样吧,
把暮光忘记,
把浮云掠去,
把身体放低。
一片叶子落下,
被冰凉的海水托住,
在漫漫黑夜里 
漂--

天边有星,
却黯淡,
照不清黎明。
传说中的灯塔,
躲在迷雾后的悬崖上,
目光颤栗。


风嘶哑着喉咙,
一遍遍地
叹息。
握不住的沙,
终究要随风散去,
归于无垠……


Friday, December 11, 2020

I Got Them Blues

I got them blues

of yesterday and tomorrow
where what has been will not

be again, that unequal mixing
of joy and sorrow, where the trinity
of eye and voice and beauty
made all things beautiful and now
it's gone, life betraying one moment
for another, the irreplaceable
not replaced so I hum The Old
Rugged Cross I heard sung
in a honky tonk 'cause if anyone
knows the blues, it's Jesus and me
and the dreams only the blues
can give of love resurrected
from eternity.   

-Byron Hoot 

Friday, November 13, 2020

Old Oak Woman

Habibi,


I am bone weary – 

But dogged determination is the only way

I know. I am weighted, holding gifts:

In one hand a full bucket of fresh qualla

And in the other a basketful of lapis lazuli – 


Right and left, left and right


Each one representing the other.

Everything is washed with that cold

Comfortless dense white light of a dark 

Winter mountain day

And my burden has broken me physically.


I stand in the mud shivering


Feeling like a character in a Beckett novel:

Less human perhaps than a constantly thinking tree,

Observing and rooting deeper and deeper and deeper,

Increasingly aware that this perseverance 

Is probably all in vain.


Petrified, my many names becoming no name.

No one cares about the contents

Of my ever-ticking, tocking, loudly thinking mind.

I no longer have the will to ask

For peace as I literally creak and split

With time and weather and fatigue,

Shattered at last by my unappreciated,

Unrewarded steadfastness.


This must be what Daphne felt like,

Except I was neither runner nor chaser – 

Though I wait, exhausted unto death

By my own pointless patience and listening

For silence within my reverberating head.

And if there is no release back

Into human form, at least maybe

People may tie windchimes

On all my branches


So that when they pass by 

They will pause a moment to mark

What is left of this existence with the

Smallest of fleeting wonder.


-Sabne Raznik

http://www.facebook.com/sabneraznik




Friday, September 4, 2020

This Day, That Moment

There  are days I feel more
like a hunter than other days --
this is one of them.

All that is feels it is
more than all
it is.

A fullness has whispered,
"Look and listen,
see and hear.

And feel that which
no words can capture --
deny not the feelings."

Emptying all I can of language,
of that which wants to categorize,
divide when everything before

me says, "Take me as
I am or lose me forever!"
The moment the hunter

and  the hunted
are most 
alive.

-Byron Hoot

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Forever Changing, Forever the Same

                     The sun is in my eyes
casting its westward shadows.
The stillness, like emptiness, can
can suddenly come alive.
                                      Or tease  
in that way of what has been
to be again.  
                 Which, of course, all things
do but do so differently over time.
I am a simple man,
believe in simple verities,
knowing things are never as they
have been though always among
us -- like love:
                     that apodictic reality
in the plethora of eternity holding
what is constantly found
and lost and stories told about,
the ambrosia of the Divine
and the Human
                       forever, forever
never leaving things as they are. 

-Byron Hoot

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Past, Present and Accounted For

The problem with the past 
is that consequences say, 
"Here we are!"
                      in the moment
of now of which we think
that's all there is:
                         the causality
of connectivity says,
"Cut the child in half!"
and a lie becomes the saving
grace of life
                     and we are not 
ashamed.
                But the child
with two mothers, father
unknown, forces 
the revelation of love
through a lie all can see.
We should be so fortunate
if our consequences came close
to that --
              a love that cannot
bear losing what it has given
life to.

-Byron Hoot

I Heard Wind Howling


February 19, 2016


I Heard Wind Howling


I heard wind howling

outside my closed window

in heavy darkness,

Heaven’s rage

far or near

pierced

whole night.


I saw cold wind

through my open window

in plain daylight

sweeping back slight things:

sands, clouds, leaves

and

all lost souls.


Katherine Liu

Solitude at Virginia Tech

Western Virginia Arts

2016


我听到风呼啸



我听到风呼啸

在紧闭的窗外,

夜色深沉,

上天的震怒,

忽远又忽近,

刺穿

整个黑夜


我看到冷冷的风

在推开的窗外,

平淡的日光下,

卷荡走轻微的东西,

树叶、沙子和云,

还有

所有  迷路的灵魂。






Snow Dream


February 12, 2016


Snow Dream

Icy,

Quiet

whiteness
everything slept
into your holy dream home,
even those

used to be flourishing and secret

all frozen deeply

into your boundless embrace.

Wait-
faint sunlight fades away

from the vacant sky;

little fresh scent float

around the wintry woods;
a whispering breeze kisses

your pale face and-

melts in the end

in your tender breath.

Then,
dream

back-
to millions of years ago

you once forgot,

to the desolate seaside

of  where you were born,

to the pure and impassible beginning

of  yours,

and
no
more

wake.


2016-2-12

Katherine Liu

Solitude at Virginia Tech

Western Virginia Arts


雪之梦


冰冷
宁静
纯白,
万物沉睡
进入你圣洁的梦乡,
甚至那些
曾经的繁华和秘密,
也深深地

封冻进 你无垠的怀抱。

等待--
微弱的日光

从虚空消褪;

清新气息 若有若无

飘散在这冬日树林;
轻风低语着
吻过你苍白面颊,
最终融入
你温柔的呼吸。

然后,
做梦吧--
回到
你一度遗忘的
百万年以前,
回到
你诞生处--

蛮荒的海的边缘;
回到
你纯真的,
无知无觉的最初,


醒来。


Between Here and There

The snow is almost gone but for patches that want to see the red buds of maples on the hillsides: the sign of ending and beginning. The chan...