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

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

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

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

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

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

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

漂

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……

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 

visit hootnhowlpoetry.com 

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

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

http://hootnhowlpoetry.com

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

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，
不
再
醒来。