1 On sunny days there in the shade Between the trees reclined a maid Who lifted up her dress (she said) To keep the moonbeams off her head.

                        2 A hundred times they kiss, and then      A thousand time embrace, And stop only to start again; There’s no tautology in such a [...]]]> THREE POEMS

                        1
On sunny days there in the shade
Between the trees reclined a maid
Who lifted up her dress (she said)
To keep the moonbeams off her head.

                        2
A hundred times they kiss, and then
     A thousand time embrace,
And stop only to start again;
There’s no tautology in such a case.

                        3
He held her face, and would not let her go:
She tried to say, ‘Oh no! No, no! Oh no,
No, no!’ But through the kiss no sound would come
Except ‘Hmm-hmm-hmm hm hm hmm hm hmmmm!’

  — Bhartrhari (c. 5th Century)

The Old Year’s gone away      To nothingness and night: We cannot find him all the day      Nor hear him in the night: He left no footstep, mark or place      In either shade or sun: The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,      In this he’s known by none.

All [...]]]> THE OLD YEAR

The Old Year’s gone away
     To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
     Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
     In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
     In this he’s known by none.

Old papers thrown away,
     Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
     Are things identified;
But time once torn away
     No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
     Left the Old Year lost to all.

  — John Clare (1793 – 1864), English poet.

Walking in the mountains unconsciously trudging along grab a vine climb another ridge

Standing in the mountains how many dawns become dusk plant a pine a tree of growing shade

Sitting in the mountains zig-zag yellow leaves fall nobody comes close the door and make a big fire

Lying in the mountains [...]]]> FOUR MOUNTAIN POSTURES

Walking in the mountains
unconsciously trudging along
grab a vine
climb another ridge

Lying in the mountains
pine wind enters the ears
for no good reason
beautiful dreams are blown apart

  — Stonehouse [Shih Wu] (1272 – 1352), Chinese monk and poet. Translation by Red Pine.

NEW PORNOGRAPHERS – CHALLENGERS

Yes I know it was late We were greeting the sun Before long

And you live with someone I live with somebody too Leave it there

For safe keeping One of the west village in plains That was the custom Come dawn

On the walls of the day In the [...]]]>

NEW PORNOGRAPHERS – CHALLENGERS

Yes I know it was late
We were greeting the sun
Before long

And you live with someone
I live with somebody too
Leave it there

For safe keeping
One of the west village in plains
That was the custom
Come dawn

On the walls of the day
In the shade of the sun
We wrote down

Another vision of us
We were the challengers of
The unknown

“Be safe” you say
Whatever the mess you are, you’re mine, okay
If that is the custom
I’m down

Na-na na-na na-na na-na na-na
Na-na na-na na-na na-na na-na…

Until I see you around
Until we clear the accounts
Leave it there

Leave it to us
We are the challengers of
The unknown

Oh-la, oh-la, oh-la, oh-la
Oh-la, oh-la, oh-la, oh-la

The Old Year’s gone away     To nothingness and night: We cannot find him all the day     Nor hear him in the night: He left no footstep, mark or place     In either shade or sun: The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,     In this he’s known by none.

All nothing everywhere:     Mists we [...]]]>

The Old Year

The Old Year’s gone away
    To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
    Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
    In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
    In this he’s known by none.

All nothing everywhere:
    Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they’re here
    And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
    In every cot and hall–
A guest to every heart’s desire,
    And now he’s nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,
    Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
    Are things identified;
But time once torn away
    No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
    Left the Old Year lost to all.

  — John Clare (1793 – 1864), English Poet