The China Collection

A/N: This is just a random collection of poems that I wrote when I was in China. Most of them are haikus, but some of them are just blank verse.
There are:
19 haikus
14 blank verse



The golden Buddha
Sits in the temple waiting
Years pass by slowly

The scent of incense
My hands flecked with grey-white dust
Smoke curls up dancing

There, a woodpecker
Oppurtunity the tree
Many sparks fly

Mechanical bird
Ascends to the clouds above
The loud passing wind

The sleeping people
Rest against their chairs, silent
And I, still awake

Summer here, again
The familiar cicadas
The sting of sunlight

When love is greatest,
Words are fewest between two.
So then, speak silence

The white trembling hand
Picks up a stone on a grave
Sets it back gently

All the right questions
Replied with the wrong answers
Profound ignorance

Alone with yourself
The story ends and beings
in a white blank room

The drop of water
Falls from the leaf of a plant
Wind gently blowing

Forever a peace
Broken by so sharp a sound
Shatters fragile glass

Down a winding road
Autumn leaves fall in her hair
You reach out your hand

A ribbon of red
Snakes down her black hair in braids
Red clothes for New Years

Footsteps in the snow
The sound of snowflakes drifting
Landscapes of winter

Fall into a world
Unconciousness takes over
Fly with me away

Take a cup of wine
Make a toast to all goodbyes
Tears that are not shed

The scent of iron
Splatters that fall on the ground
Clatter of the knife

Running away, but,
Rooted to some distant light.
Past, present, future

Orchirds
sit on my desk
Their stems reaching for a goal
which we cannot see
Purple-pink tears of petals
fall
wilted away
with waiting
water they drink from the well
of beauty
conciliatory

Window screen
stained
dirtied
cleaned
blocking
yet they let air through
buildings outside
laundry hanging
the sound of cicadas
birds
filter through
the screen

White
Hell is white
No brinestone and fire
No heat
but there is no sound
no feel
no smell
no touch
no taste
no sight
and Hell
is cold
as cold as black ice

Bicycle outside
alone and unridden
The wheels are old
the joints are creaky
Paint peeling
but it is beautiful to me
speaks of memories

Portrait of a married couple
stands proudly on the wall
and makes me wonder
what sentiment lies
in taking that picture
if there was any
The white of their clothes
against the blue of the background
And their smiles
so true and sweet
yet so false

The sweet sickly drowsy smell of lotus
coats the smell as summer
Grassy itchy warm scent of Chinese straw mats.
full of the aroma of clove and wintergreen
mixed as a blam
whiff of juniper and far-off distant hazy smoke
faint stale stench of sweat
China

You hear the strings of an angel's harp
resounding
Fills the empty spaces
Close your eyes
The world behind eyelids
is a place of pressed flowers
of pretty songs
of origami birds
of pale blue-white light
a place where everything is as it should be
Take this reprieve
hide
in this perfect world
for when you open your eyes
Reality hits you
And only an echo of the angel's harp
remains

All my efforts
wasted
laughing deperatly
The end comes quickly
Alone to face the darkness
Wings broken in the impact
Splinters of broken glass
cut my face
leaving trickles of blood
A kiss my dear
The end is here

Your voice is dead
over the phone
echoes
and, a click
That's it
no more from you
And I can sit here
Pretend it's because of static
phone problems
interference
That your words and voice are gone
Laugh when others tell me
It's over
Cause it's not
It's because of the damn static
And me
(Poem inspired by the many other poems entitled static)

Something overwhelms me
Takes over again
stale scent of dried blood
And the flash of a distant sword
I take
Remembering
The memories return
Habit a reflex
To recall
Background the sound
of drums
a wooden flute
The ancient Chinese violin
Cup of white wine
swirl of green and white
me in the middle
lost yet found
Down a spiral

The mania of fans
rests the same everywhere
and every concert
the same hysteria falls
A glistening glitter curtain over us
and the great majestic gods are the singers
that presides
like no god before
The truth is
We the people
are the only gods
to ourselves

I would answer your question
if I knew
why you asked
if I knew
the answer
If I cared
to tell you
And you would answer mine
If I would answer yours
Thus, we are both at a loss
and the circle beings again

He wears a cross
because
He doesn't believe in God
but
He wears a cross
because
He wants to believe in God
He wants to believe he can fly
Higher than anything
but
He wears a cross
because
He doesn't want to believe in God
And
He wears a cross
Because
It reminds him he can fly anyway

You ask me
why
I don't worship you and your boyfriend
why
I don't kiss the ground you walk on
why
I don't giggle and flirt
why
I don't dress like you
why
I care nothing for you
I ask you
Why not?
And you
Armed with your scorn
and I
armed with my sarcasm
sit and
understand each other perfectly


She is bent over
Back arched
Shoulders down
Head tilted downwards
Bent over her plants
Her life
Tending her rice
Her life
In the muddy paddy field
Large hat nodding on her head
Clothes dirty
Skin a tanned brown
With the burn of the sun
Faced away from me
I pass her
She raises her head
Looks at the train
Squints her eyes
Smiles at me
I realize
If I lived her life
If I dwelled in the sun
If I tended rice as my life
I would look like her


The cascade of leaves
Branches
Green
Jade highlights
Spills, falling like water
Sprouted from the willow tree
Dangles
Wistfully touching
Water's surface is broken
By
The willow
Weeping green leaves
Breaks against the face of
Water


Ruins
Scatters across the spot
Bits of rock
Ancient treasures
Yellowed
With age
With glory
With fallen fame
With abandonment
With the comings of the future
Remains sleeping
Waiting
Pondering
Dreaming
Believing
Broken



C&C please!