Tuesday, September 29, 2009

September 29. 2009

red veined plant,
pirouette again for
me on clumps
of sod, while i rest
beneath this tree's shadow

bobbing wife . . .
my in-law's home filled
with water

houses waist
high in water
and your
mother's bed, dampened
with phlegm and lost dreams

winter rain . . .
she calls her lover
a typhoon

where were you
saints of the stained glass
window, when
Christ stepped down from the
cross, treading water?

the typhoon's path . . .
flooded homes

buddha stares
past the cries of young
carrying their babies
through flooded villages

stand in line for hours . . .

how can we
sleep in a fish bowl
of water;
the whining of wind,
the laughter of trees?

control your temper . . .
sweep our words

you stare
through bamboo slits
at white men
floating past you
in metal dragons

the rumble
of dragons passing
through winter

robert d. wilson


Saturday, September 26, 2009

September 26, 2009

where do you
sleep when the sidewalk's
and the store eaves
have waiting lines?

what is rain
to a horny cricket ?
thick darkness

the ashes
of elders and frogs
in a graveyard
swapping stories

spiders, the
web they built inside
her, empty

brown out . . .
a hundred different
worlds with their
own set of wings
and nowhere to go

rain dances
on her roof without an

on the telephone
talking to
a client, his puppy
takes her last breath

rambutan . . .
a sweet fruit hiding
behind thorns

brown out . . .
she burns candles
to ward off
a darkness filled
with childhood guilt

you don't scare
me typhoon, i too
blow off steam

are all the
women here takers
wanting to
be on magazine
covers in drag?

watching clouds
with his eyes closed . . .
hollow man

the frog monk
prays inside the
damp temple
asking for a
different song

calm down, dog;
form in your mind a
sutra stone

do you
dream of me at
night when
darkness walks past
you with a smile?

when the rain
stops, toads enter the
blow gun's mouth

deep sleep . . .
an urge to slip
into a
solder's armor
between dark moons

long before
dawn, comets
mimic dolphins

this morning,
rain and sun come to
the quiet . . .
nesting in a cup
of coffee

a retired man
sips morning coffee . . .
fluorescent tide

black pajama
people dodge flies
and locusts . . .
a thousand years
in deep tunnels

early morning . . . 
the stream between 
her legs

that moment
at night when the moon
stares at me
with a sheepish grin . . .
my wife steeping stars

September 26, 2009 : The Halo Halo People

the halo
halo people sleeping
on steps;
this heavy wind
the persistent rain

starless night . . .
ghosts lighting candles
for street kids

above the water on
boards made
of bamboo and
dragonfly wings

storm warning . . .
the halo halo
dream of night

waking up
from the same dream
every night . . .
virgins dancing
in deep gorges

out of reach,
a brass ring waiting . . .
heavy rain

i bathe
in the light of a
nearby moon
crocheting hate into
neutered rhinos

dragonfly . . .
spare the rice field
that feeds us

opo will
will never strengthen
a people
used to being
another's monkey

* opo: tagalog for yes sir.

the meowing
of vendors selling

only you
can massage my feet
with tears
shed for the child you left
behind in samar

will buddha
step on the snails
eating rice?

inside i retreat
to the
wonderland i
painted as a child

tondo . . .
restless feet in
a dragon' belly

the trash
beside the river
reminds me of kids
swimming in the pasig

covered with
filth, the old beggar
greets winter

forever . . .
the toothless old
posing for a photo
beyond the moon

spoiled rice . . .
a good day for our
worker's dog!

the monster
with his skin turned
inside out,
begging for money . . .
breathes the same air

like them, a
barren tree men
walk past

these people
love the company
of rats?
commune with cockroaches;
erase a child's dream?

scaling fish . . .
the pungent scent of
a buntis girl

* buntis: tagalog for pregnant

the naked little boy
without shoes
treating winter
like a children's toy

robert d. wilson

September 26-27th, 2009

i slept through
morning, waking
up to write
this tanka and watch
her bow to puzzles

mid winter .. .
the down syndrome boy
eats alone

the lantern
i bought for you
last night
was was sold to me
by lazy fireflies

darkness, rain . . .
a typhoon sleeping
on the couch

i bought my
friend a used cell phone
to text me
when she gets off work
. . . fencing canned sardines

i am not
a failure, dismissing

spoiled child!
you think the world revolves
around you . . .
there's more to rice
paddies than mirrors

centuries . . .
the evil around us
in crushed ice

waking up
from the same dream
every night . . .
virgins dancing
in deep gorges

storm warning . . .
the halo halo
dream of night

above the water on
boards made
of bamboo and
dragonfly wings

starless night . . .
ghosts lighting candles
for street kids

robert d. wilson
© 2009

Thursday, September 24, 2009

September 24, 2009

she can't be
alone with herself
sword play with wind mills
a waste of time

if i have
to drink with you . . .
we piss stars

do they wake
up beside cockroaches,
watched by rats,
the stench of feces
in humid heat?

your shell,
turtle, a refuge
from words

when i wake
up, has it been
a dream . . .
a scribble in
another's notebook?

is it the
puzzle that keeps us

the woman
she was when we
left home in a car
she couldn't fix

dragonfly . . .
spare the rice field
that feeds us

robert d. wilson

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

September 23, 2009

a slave to
the rich, arched and
flat backs
stare blankly at
themselves in mirrors

she pulled me
out of the darkness, winter
painted me into

take the gift
i bought for you . . .
burn a bridge
and watch the ashes
take my shape

before dawn . . .
look for a cloud
to water

i'm on a
toilet bowl without
a lid
watching the sun set
between a rat's legs

thick legs . . .
an ice covered

a cloud, she
hovers over me
the same breath
the same breath

night walk . . .
a blues harp among

moonless night . . .
disembodied eyes stare
at the white
man walking through a
dragon's intestines

what are mirrors
to a laborer
picking rice?

she sips
brandy tonight
with the
leftover dream
she never pursued

late night . . .
hoping the moon will
lead you home

to the party at
calls to mind easter
sundays in a rest home

summer rain . . .
even the roosters

the light rail
carries passengers
into a
galaxy that has
no time for words

will the
song in my heart
scatter stars?

the dragon's
feces flows through
my veins
pulling me deeper
into madness

paint me
kindly, summer wind . . .
steeping tea

robert d. wilson


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

September 22, 2009

teach me grass
to be pliable
and listen

walk in the
rain, ignore the voice
that keeps you
tied up with ropes
in a dark closet

first rooster . . .
he cannot wait
until dawn

like echoes
the rooster's crow, victims
of a dream
between masses
and faceless nights

the distant bark
of a caged dog . . .
and day dreams

they are for
nothing, these nets . . .
placed here to
placate the ghosts
this mind has painted

will buddha
step on snails
eating rice?

where will you
run to when i'm
dead and
the grass across
the street dries up?

a wife steeps
herself in the drunken
dreams of men

the sushi
of the day was the
waitress in
a tight black skirt
i couldn't say no to

the sticky
fingers of a fly
making sushi

it was as
if she'd dressed like
that for me . . .
an okra blossom
sheltered from the rain

poor flowers!
under a highway bridge
in edsa

this void . . .
the two of us
on a rope
bridge without ends

a child's eyes
skipping stones spirits
across the pond

with little
sleep, the river near
our home, guides
me into an eddy
sculpted by stares

lamb's blood . . .
the stench of a thousand
white worms

the yellow
shirts of stylists
to paint rainbows
between their legs

neon eyes
short circuited
by winter

pounding rain . . .
muffled screams under
bed sheets
stained with thoughts beyond
your wildest dreams

mid autumn . . .
white clouds flying

voices, and not from
my mind
if i have another
cup of mirror?

the voices of vendors
hawking goods

i bathe
in the light of a
nearby moon
crocheting hate into
neutered rhinos

i too,
carabao, plow

you stow
away in a cloud
at night
wondering why
the candle went out

your stillness,
monkey, without the
organ grinder