Find and share the perfect poems.
Today in hazy San Francisco, I face seaward Toward China, a giant begonia— Pink, fragrant, bitten By verdigris and insects. I sing her A blues song; even a Chinese girl gets the blues, Her reticence is black and blue. Let’s sing about the extinct Bengal tigers, about giant Pandas— “Ling Ling loves Xing Xing…yet, We will not mate. We are Not impotent, we are important. We blame the environment, we blame the zoo!” What shall we plant for the future? Bamboo, sassafras, coconut palms? No! Legumes, wheat, maize, old swine To milk the new. We are Americans now, we live in the tundra Of the logical, a sea of cities, a wood of cars. Farewell my ancestors: Hirsute Taoists, failed scholars, farewell My wetnurse who feared and loathed the Catholics, Who called out Now that half-men have occupied Canton Hide your daughters, lock your doors!
One child has brown eyes, one has blue One slanted, another rounded One so nearsighted he squints internal One had her extra epicanthic folds removed One downcast, one couldn't be bothered One roams the heavens for a perfect answer One transfixed like a dead doe, a convex mirror One shines double-edged like a poisoned dagger Understand their vision, understand their blindness Understand their vacuity, understand their mirth
A lament for Don (1958-2011)
Gaze gaze beyond the vermilion door
Leaf leaf tremble fall
Stare blankly at the the road's interminable end
Reduplications cold cold mountains
Long long valleys broad broad waters
Tears are exhausted now shed blood
Deep deep the baleful courtyards who knows how deep
Folds on folds of curtains
Gates trap infinite twilight
Walk walk through waning meadows
Steep steep toward ten-thousand Buddhas
Knuckles blue on the balustrade
In the land of missing pronouns
Sun is a continuous performance
And we my lover are nothing
Yellow gold is meaningless Learning is better than pearls A woman without brilliance Leaves nothing but dim children You can hawk your gold if you’re hungry Sell your mule when you’re desperate What can you do with so many poems Sprouting dead hairs in an empty coffin * Lotus: pink dewlapped pretty Lotus: upturned palm of my dead mother Lotus: a foot a broken arch Lotus: plop and a silent ripple * I hum and stroll And contemplate a poem While young boys are dying In West Darfur I hum and stroll And contemplate a poem While young boys are dying In West Darfur