Where A Lamp Is Lit

Light spills through a window filtered by a broken blind onto a littered street; a flood of warmth amidst blight. I imagine someone is sheltering there— away from the graffiti on the warped plywood boarding up the next house, the pawn shop wrapped in bars, needles on the ground.

-Patricia Thrushart
 http://www.thewatershedjournal.org/

What Your Cousin Davey Knew

What Your Cousin Davey Knew

Do you think your cousin Davey knew,

When he suddenly died at 62,

That the time he sat on his front porch

After supper,

Under the Summer Triangle,

When the air was finally cooling off—

          God it was a hot one—

his thoughts drowned out

By the katydids and cricket calls,

The trilling owl and far-away yelp

Of the coyotes,

Answered by the rising bay of his hounds

In their compound just behind the

Clapboard house—

          Missing a few shingles

          And a shutter or two—

Things he just hadn’t gotten around to

fixing

Quite yet;

Do you think he knew

That it was the last time he’d see those brightening stars,

Or hear that fine chorus,

Or hush his dogs—

           for Pete’s sake, shut up—

Or that he’d never get

to those little annoying repairs? Patricia Thrushart
 http://www.thewatershedjournal.org/

Coyote

Coyote

I forget that you are there

Coyote, you sly one

in your canine cleverness.

You the trickster of ancient stories

who spread the stars with your tail—

You fool me.

I’m distracted by

the bumbling possum,

the facile raccoon,

the leggy beauty of the flighty doe,

or even the lumbering bear who fears nothing, clawing the trunks of great trees

and feasting on seedy berries and fish.

I never see

you Coyote,

and barely notice your traces of

muddy prints and bleached bones.

Yes, I forget. I walk, my dogs run ahead;

blissful they are, happy to find the bones you leave, happy to sniff your lingering presence. And me, I walk unaware, until

at night

late with no moon

your howls with unearthly overtones

fill the forest and

my primal human hair

rises up on my neck

and I remember

that you stalk the fawn and

the grouse and

the pet and possibly

even me.

I think in your howls I hear

the reminder that life is

moment to moment,

full of peril;

and safety a dangerous illusion

born of chosen ignorance

so that one can enjoy

a walk. Patricia Thrushart
http://www.thewatershedjournal.org/

Snow In April

Snow in April,
white moths in the sky
fly willfully
in the bright sunshine.
Mood of the passerby
with a yellow blossoming tree nearby
swung by
the traceless fairies in delight！

Snow in April,
fine salt over the soil,
disappears quietly,
where gathering starlings stand by. 
Hurried heart on spring journey,
comforted by
the cool
before the coming of the night.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Spring 2016

Hometown Of Wind

I was born in
the hometown of wind,
where it is windy constantly.
Throughout dark nights/ and bright days;
where meteor streaks across even
with a strong blowing,
breaks into glistening lakes  
on the colorful ground around.

Migratory birds are confused easily:
Winter and summer are very short
While warmth is long,
Seasons cycle unusually;
Homesick seawater goes upstream frequently,
assisted by the wind
to embrace the snow mountain
and fall in a serene sleep ahead.

There grains grow so quickly,
golden sunlight in the field
satisfies/ all tongues and granaries.
The rest of the time people read poems, 
boil the wine* and laugh joyfully,
ride the wind to roam distantly. 


There women’s hair dances around
like blossoming fireworks/ or flowers;
There blooms are longer than elsewhere,
no disconsolate lovers.
Tears waft far away soon 
after they stream
and are a rainfall to moisten desires. 


Wind shuttles everywhere,
seeds, longings, dreams
and perfume of lives,
as dandelions root anywhere,
grow in an instant
into what they once expected.


Eternal souls wander with the wind
among the timeless future, reality and past
like shadows following the moonlight––
neither part in life,
nor separation by death,
for/ it is the hometown of wind.



*Boiling the wine is a custom in ancient China and even in some places of current China, which intends to warm the wine. After boiling the wine, some fruits such as greengages and preserved plums are added into the hot wine. People wait to drink the wine until the tart flavour of the fruits disappears.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Spring 2016

Writing Verse

It is such a wonder, to write in verse.

Learning to write metrical, is much put.

A spell one falls under, could be a curse,

To wax poetical, with measured foot.


One finds in writing, there’s more than rhyming;

One makes a start, and inscribes a keen line.

It can be exciting, but takes timing,

Wrought from the heart, and recorded real fine.


Make a good showing, writing prolific;

Give more than seems, with all of your writing.

Reveal your knowing, something terrific,

Speak from your dreams, can be exciting.


There is no strife, only the elation,

Bringing to life, your own mind’s creation!

Philip Kent Church
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Winter 2012

Moments Of Summer–Fireflies

By the end of the field
a thin layer of withered crimson afterglow 
is struggling off the stack black clouds
under which there is a cluster of woods,
which is as dark as the silhouette
after a sudden storm.

The perfume of the hay rolls nearby has faded
while the freshness of the soil and the grass roams.
The rainwater remaining on the tip of the grass 
gets my bare feet so wet that 
I shudder slightly.

A few fireflies holding their magic lanterns 
flying in front of me kindly.
I am afraid that 
the sparks are too faint and twinkling
to illuminate 
my long way home.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Summer 2016

Moments Of Summer–Blue bird

The cloudy sky shadows faintly
through the faded vine shelf
down to a dilapidated wooden table
on which an old book is open
with the fuzzy characters 
in the yellowed leaves,
like a dimmed doze in summer.
The cool breeze carrying a daydream
wafts in mid-air
like a swing.


A tweeting blue bird flitters over
the high bush and
hides soon
in the dense green shades,
like lightning and thunder which streak through 
my chaotic consciousness–
how to paint the vacant time ahead?
only to pray and wait 
for an answer.

Min Katherine Liu
Virginia Tech
WVArts Solitude
Summer 2016

As I Turned I Woke

I'd heard about problems with police

hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets 
probably cut a break no definitely 
I drove very fast especially in the turns 
roll the tires fast in the turns 
      that was me 

and the more I heard the faster I turned

as a young kid I applied and was accepted 
to six colleges six for six piece of cake 
why the stress my SAT score equated 
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life 
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one 
      best in the country 
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes

passports are even faster

I never had problems 
      with the bank
the insurance company 
      the healthcare system
never turned down 
      for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy 
      or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher 
      and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
      and the faster I turned

then I learned 
      about certain specifics 
            certain policies 

with regard to traffic stops 
bank loans rental property 
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple 
and then that invaluable government 
       syphilis experiment 
that would have been inconceivable 
       even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner 
       has more than one stanza?  
really there were four stanzas?

MY country ‘tis of ME 
      and it was making me feel dirty

learned that no one 
      voluntarily held that flag up 
that hellish night 
      o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slaves and freedmen alike

            *were ordered*
      to their near certain death 
with the threat of absolute 
      certain death

then I watched a cop 
       shoot a kid in the back 
              in cold blood
near a merry-go-round 
      on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27 
into THAT kid's back no hesitation murder

baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore 

I hit the brakes hard 
      on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations 
      of turning
I slowed down way way way down 
      stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel

Girard Tournesol

In the Name of Love

I am afraid

But I know you are too

Storms are screaming over this black

Sea of life: your shadow supports

Me from behind as our tiny vessel

Sinks and my hope – heavy in my hands

Like wet sand – weighs down

My soul’s pockets and washes out.

You sing: “Hold on. Hold on.

There is a light; don’t let it go out.”

I’m gasping and together we push back

Against waves with our bare hands.

There is sadness in our will: the courage

Of the noble righteous doomed

Who defy and defy

Until Defiance kills us –

Because we must, if only for those

Who lack the strength to fight.

There is no moon; there is just

Water and more cold salted water.

You are not sure anymore;

Love keeps you singing – that’s

All now and that’s enough.

Sputtering, you clasp my shoulders

Firmly and with fondness:

You pull me under.

I surrender

To your hold: giving

Even in death, your body

A floating raft for other life –

Silenced yet forever singing hope.

Dawn spears horizon’s spray.

-Sabne Raznik

http://www.facebook.com/sabneraznik

Rainy Day

When the rain comes
Gentle, I will
Be here to listen:
Peaceful piddle-puddling
Rivulets rolling like tiny rivers
Widening into Lilliputian oceans
Full of your voice across
Distance and time to tell
All the things you didn’t say -
You ought to have said -
Before our time wound down
Cracks to underground waters
Submerged and raging and changing
The landscape of us still
Unseen and - mostly - unheard:
Irresistibly.
God help me, I chose you;
I won’t take that decision back.

-Sabne Raznik
http://www.facebook.com/sabneraznik

Desire and Longing

I have distinctions

regarding remembering,

forgetting, and memory --

in memory there is no

need to remember

                        nor any way to forget.

-Byron Hoot

Simple Math

I find myself putting end-dates,

roughly outlined, to certain

things I will, hopefully, can do

within the time I see them

being done.

                     I don't deny time

is subtracting from my future

as it adds to my past.

Second chances are becoming

fewer and fewer;

                            I need to see and know

more clearly that what I want is what

I can do.

              At no other time in my life

has Thoreau's mantra,

"Simplify, simplify, simplify" mattered more

as I seek less of what

is not worth doing.

-Byron Hoot

Lament

“Wherefore it is as foolish to lament that we shall not be alive a hundred years from now as it is to lament that we were not alive a hundred years ago.” - Montaigne

Wherefore we do not mourn the time
Before we were born,
The truth is
Unlike then
Now we know what we will miss—
The warm sun,
the rustling trees,
A soft rain;
A startled doe,
The song of a thrush,
The love of a good dog;
A hand to hold.

And we do, indeed, lament. - Patricia Thrushart

Memory And Retrospect

"1-
Life's retrospect brings to one and all
A maze of joy and sorrow;
And things we count as joy today
Oft brings a sad tomorrow.
2-
Back thru the corridors of time
Along the way we came,
Fond memory points to scenes sublime
And scenes that bring us shame.
3-
Since only once we pass this way
Why spend our time lamenting.
For life, while in this house of clay
Means sinning and repenting.
4-
Alas for him who does not feel
Each day he needs a savior:
And daily pleads with Christ to heal
And pardon ill-behavior.
5-
The blood that reached and cleansed today
Has lost no power tomorrow:
That fount was opened wide for aye,
A balm for sin and sorrow."

*Pastor Walter C. Harris
Long Branch West Virginia
June 29, 1934

How can we endure it?

I am with you as you face the Ghost,

Feel the hairs going prickly on your neck

The spread of cold dread dissolving your faith

You swallow the pointless words unspoken,

“Spirit, show me no more.”

I am with you when you see the dark arm

Raise its fleshless finger toward the hovel

Pointing to the idle crutches fireside.

O Ebenezer, in that cursed moment,

before the Ghost of What is Yet to Come,

when your contrite heart, so newly hope-filled,

iced over in dread when you saw the cost

Learned the consequences of existence..

Saw that others paid the price for your sins.

The weight of your meager happiness cracked

The thinning lattice of narrow shoulders

Revealing a misery all your own

Now, bursting from your throat is the question:

“O Spirit. How can we endure it?”

Perhaps you can now create your own joy

You could dirty your hands with messy bonds

Lighten your conscience and coffers alike.

Reduce yourself to share humanity

you might find something lasting, forgiving.

A great happiness could be built on such,

Perhaps one strong enough to protect you.

Do the Ghosts only come once a lifetime?

Can redemption be earned in one evening?

Make sure you weave your bedclothes with progress.

Banish the shadows with good deeds piled high.

Hope you have changed enough that you ward off

Any future visits from the Spirit.

Who among us can stand before the Wraith,

Dark arm raised, terrible finger pointing

To a dread stele engraved with your name?

All progress and good deeds returned to dust.

You could hold up your flimsy shield of joy,

Turn your eyes from the impending doom;

You must beg aloud to be shown no more

For you will be no better prepared to

Endure.

-Sarah Rossey