Boys

Your poems

Made me think

Cracked me wide open

Boys lost

In the prisons of men

Turning pain into pens

Anger into ink

Solitude into paper

Despair into contemplation

I hope your books

Grow you back into mighty trees

http://freemindsbookclub.wordpress.com/2011/09/08/peer-pressure-is-like-a-drug/#comment-487

Check this out...

While I am on hiatus from writing poetry this week, you don't have to be on leave from reading it. Here are some poems by youths charged as adults in the US penal system. There are some good poems that'll crack you wide open hidden in there. Also, leave a comment for the boys lost in the prisons of men:

http://freemindsbookclub.wordpress.com/

Hiatus

Under the gun of a deadline, so no poetry until next month. See you then!

Ghosts in the Machine

As your computer screen flickers

Read their ghostly whispers

You like this actress?

Want to see her undressed?

How about this one?

All her secrets undone

You have won a million dollars!

Click this link and it is all yours

Just give us your credit card and DOB

The internet has made it so easy

For digital spectres hunting a host

Hungrier than any Chinese ghost

Modern horrors of the digital sphere

That find you logged on anywhere

Here’s a thought to goose your nape

From machine ghosts there is no escape

Sanjo Bridge

Where young people spill beer

Their samurai ancestors spilt blood

Where drunken lords floated poetry down the river

Their drunken descendants now float chip bags

All gather around

The timeless draw of Sanjo bridge

Its stone shadow over the duck river

Has seen it all here in Kyoto

Last Beach Day

Let’s go to the water

Spark on the waves

Cold grit between out toes

No one here but you and I

And the far off breath of winter

Tumbling discarded fans and tissues past us

Shuttered stands

Still reeking of oil and sugar

The dryer sands

Still imprinted with bottoms and feet

Gum wrappers and drink bottles winking sunlight

Cool enough to put my arms around you

Like I wanted to but couldn’t

All summer long

The New Terrorism

By his pin-striped suit

You can tell a robber

Carrying his loot

And the Wall Street Journal

Grease bombers have a cell

In every city of this nation

Poisoning the well

Where children come to drink

Fantasy merchants hold in thrall

Slaves both young and old

Taking their riches all

And siphoning their souls

Gichu Temple, Otsu

Basho Haiku 1

Basho’s tombstone spot

Shadow temple of city

We escape the heat

Basho Haiku 2

Turtle nursery

Green oasis silent stone

Gives kind smiles and words

Future Existence

This government ration

Of one sardine and a sweet potato

For the entire nation

Decided by population ratio

I remember excess

Life so bright and gaudy

Material wealth measured success

Now it’s keeping spirit with body

My smooth professor’s hands

Become dirty and creased

Reclaiming poisoned lands

From the horrors we unleashed

I feel something’s right

In this simple existence

By civilization’s fading light

We are taught subsistence

Lotus

Lotus blossoms Everywhere Pink-purple in the morning sun Closed by daylight Like the eyes Of the lotus-eaters Closed to war And suffering and hate And love and a life’s work So long as they eat The fruit of the lotus blossoms

I Need To Try Harder

Just learned that my blog is rated G. Guess that means I ain't trying hard enough. Can I get to R in a week? We'll see...

Digital Age Koans

In the sea of Internet, you cannot click the same porn twice.

Soonest befriended, soonest de-Friended.

Search engines reduce your efficiency by 400%. Google surfing reduces it by 800%.

Hitler appears in any internet conversation long enough.

Nothing you download will be compatible with anything you’ve already downloaded.

What is the sound of one hand typing?

Drop Zones

I have not lost my words

Just mislaid them

‘Incentive’ dropped into the couch

‘Paradigm’ is found behind the fridge

‘Conundrum’ put in a guest’s bag by accident

Sometimes I am afraid

There is a thief in my house

Time come stealing my words

So I check my drop zones

To give me peace of mind

Stations

 Half-empty halls

Kyoto Subway

Typhoon

Licks and scratches outside

Empty

As Union Station

Toronto high noon

On a workday

The Mercy of Forgetfulness

Old man dressed for work

He hasn’t gone to in years

Sitting on the sidewalk

Mirrored in the corner store window

Talking to children

Gone years ago

We spend our life

Trying to acquire things

Fighting not to lose them

When we need to know

How to let go

When they leave us