Here is one of two poems I wrote last night. It is followed by the other one. NIGIRI AND A BLACK CROW CALLS The fluffy kernels of Japanese white rice—Gohan That I have cooked Made to be rounded with tender care into round balls Nigiri With a sour plum pushed into the center And expertly surrounded by dried seaweed—nori The taste in my mouth pushing the day Eaten with rakkyo—pickled scallions This tidbit robustly rounded by my two hands The call of a crow over a wide lake Delicate tones of sumi-e in a watercolor painting And the pitcher winds up and throws a hard ball in baseball’s competition The wandering monk composes Haiku on his journey in the deep North The wandering homeless in the backstreets of San Francisco As a mighty stream follows a comet’s tail rushing through the universe And my understanding develops as does Hegel’s dialectics His strong forearms and vice like fingers Working the machine And her silk veil floats in the autumn breeze Gently revealing her pale yet warm skin Nor much changes Some men rich Some men poor Some men cry Some men laugh Some men love women I remember a Poet Who went round after round like a bobbing and weaving prize fighter She put down her guitar resting her youthful voice The family gathered round the young mother in the restaurant So many movies and interesting movie makers I enjoy the Japanese ones A white dog held fast by thin loving arms Rushing sounds of music on the MP3 Player Up and down and around and through it travels Understanding more or less Talking about everything and nothing Over a cup of coffee on a sultry day The leftover kernels of white rice in the rice pot And I smack my lips…… Peter Kenichi Yamamoto September 24, 2013
Posted on: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 21:42:04 +0000
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