October 20, 2009

strange brew . . .

the froth of winter

thickening

the monk's resolve

to keep each candle it

a few stars

tonight,  beneath caterpillar's

blanket

i lost the

foot race when i

woke up . . .

my wife beating

me with her fists

the sun's heart

beat in winter . .

missing

i can't

deny the emptiness

i feel tonight

knowing your words

are no longer

under my

blanket a few stars

to wrestle

between my

my teeth, pieces

of seaweed

waiting for their

hearts to explode

is it winter,

a dream, the moon

sipping coffee?

if only i

could seize the anger

i have for

you and hurl it

back into the sea

like every

night, star's without

a blanket

by robert d. wilson

© 2009

October 19, 2009

one, now

another, a three-fold

terminal

of miscreant moths

drawn from light to light

the boom boom

boom of workers racing

the rain

search the sun,

the moon, the ripples

of streams . . .

a thousand monks

vending mantras

cock fighting . . .

spilling blood

after church

the fire

coming from the

dragon's mouth

is oddly wet . . .

a tulip in winter

she gives her

two young boys the love

spring denied her

a friend of

mine died this morning . . .

tired, with too

much to do and a

heart that couldn't keep pace

half mast . . .

even the moon tonight

weeps for you

overwhelmed?

the sun sets in the

east, instead

of the west, the

moon eating butterflies

deep morning . . .

a laborer chats

with the stars . .

fate, the four

letter word hanging from

talismans

no one wears anymore,

at flea markets

think of the

ox tonight when winter

wakens you

robert d. wilson
©2009

October 18, 2009

that old

rooster really did

crow three times

while peter slept in a

stained glass window

quick note . . .

the flower's blossom

shuttering

where was i

when you needed me . . .

my picture

staring out of a

post office window?

day lilies . . .

muffling the song's

of koi

words dance

across your forehead

carrying the

same lilies diego

rivera planted

your songs

gecko, guide me

through winter

playing chess

with four persons,

in a mind

that thinks too much . . .

a kin to brother moth?

you forget

to follow through . . .

then winter

words are more

than barkers calling

people to

watch the circus . . .

or a banana split

dusty wind . . .

brown placards with

out words

i'm tired of

jigsaw puzzles and

carousels . . .

twirling me in circles

on empty lots

winter . . .

waiting for last year's

blossoms

as usual,

you play me for

the fool

i am, and think of

me as a wind-up toy

...........................................................

* The following seven poems are
   dedicated to my friend, Hui Na.

i saw a

star fly past me

into spring

a chinese

dancer asked me if

i wanted

to dance with her in

a basket of lilies

how can i

refuse the spring

i prayed for

hearing you

giggle reminds

me to

let my inner

child out to play

still winter . . .

the quiet of a

nursing whale

nesting on

on a crescent moon . . .

a thunderbird

eating sushi

topped with stars

swim into

the whale's womb . . .

lover's lane

----------------

lay there . . .

send me away

thinking

i won't know how

good it's feeling

one, two, three . . .

a tree line with

big smiles

robert d. wilson

©2009

October 17, 2009

'

winter's been

here too long, woman . . .

barren limbs!

pack up and

find someone else you

can treat like

shit, i'm tired of the

stale air that bred you

rainbow,

sing me to sleep . . .

the wind!

one day, you

too will endure winter

without clothing

winter?

up early lighting

lanterns

what i'd give

to be an egret

moored in mud

i can't be

the mirror no one

can be . . .

the cost of a

good seat, too costly

sail with me

into a black hole . . .

winter dusk

i refuse to

be a crucifix

again

for someone who could

be my daughter

i cause a

friend grief, feed her

winter

she surprised

me last night, saying

she wanted

us to share a room . . .

day moon in traction

another

dream spewing blossoms

towards dawn                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

this morning

a photo of the

river told

me to send a text

to my wife carefully

dragon,

any night but tonight . . .

jack fruit moon!

will you,

dragon, fly out of

my discharge

papers, like a comic book

character and eat me ?

burnt leaves . . .

it rains every

day here

how can i

be in too many

dreams at once?

a dragon pretending

to be a lamb?

a lunatic,

this leaf, riding the

rapids?

like mount

pinatubo, i'm

ready to

blow! the nerve of her

to think i'm blind!

she tosses a

noose, telling me to

hang the moon

morning . . .

when the crows of

roosters and

clouds merge into a

mass calling plato

your chatter,

bamboo, swallowed

by trikes

stay, mars!

place your arrows

beside your

bed and dream of a

world between wedges

cry, roosters!

dream your final

dream at dawn

morning mist . . .

makiling's dream

blanket . . .

her lover, banished?

dead? in hiding?

and the tide . . .

drawing trees into a

pauper's dreams?

she storms

into a mall store

fishing for

a fish that doesn't

exist . . . a fire fly

clouds scatter . . .

she loves to see girls

run from her!

why the

theater, the circus,

the mirror that

that stretches shapes

in a dawn of words?

by robert d. wilson

©2009

                            

October 13, 2009

winter's been

here too long, woman . . .

barren limbs!

rainbow,

sing me to sleep . . .

the wind!

one day, you

too will endure winter

without clothing

winter?

up early lighting

lanterns

what i'd give

to be an egret

moored in mud

i cannot

be the mirror no one

could be . . .

the cost of a good

seat too costly

sail with me

into a black hole . . .

winter dusk

i cause a

friend grief, feed her

to winter

robert d. wilson

©2009

October12, 2009

smiling . . .

a cloud with nothing

better to do

a something

that keeps me from

skipping stones . . .

twatching you wade

through heaven's river

white lilies . . .

singing the language

of water

riding home in

a jeepney through a

dream that

went sour, a text message

chanting bamboo song

listen, owl . . .

the wind mimics

your prayers

you act like

it never happened . . .

her anger

tossing our dreams

out the front door

heavy rain .. . .

a worm seeks higher

ground

a facial

with new age music . . .

the feint song

of people talking with

out-of-tune hammers

brushing leaves . . .

tea dances with remnants

of autumn

nun-like,

she walks with her

head down

cleaning streets in

front of schoolmates

the glimmer

of morning on a

jeepney's tail

she's wants

to let another

man fuck her

so she can have a child

that looks quapo

she speaks to

a bamboo, and becomes

the bamboo

she will stop

at nothing to get

what she wants . . .

a wriggling tialapia

waiting to be filleted

feel the wind . . .

it carries another

man's words

what we want

takes time and coffee...

dreams don't pop

up from paintings, walking

through mute rainbows

ant, could i

have been you in

a past life?

worker ants

carry food to

their queen . . .

not questioning

what's right or wrong

mid-winter . . .

a leaf's shadow plays

catch with a moth

the day's

coming when arched backs

will straighten

and rice fields will be

be tilled by their owners

robert d. wilson

©2009

October 10, 2009

old woman,

your outstretched cup . . .

bitter gourd?

without your

cell number, i'm at

a loss for words . . .

if i make a book for

Renzo , can we talk?

where is

moses, the street's

filled with toads

childhood friend...

he steps on leaves

the texture

of those having

been there and back

twilight dawn . . .

blow flies covering a

mother's dream

she's afraid

of and loves me

not knowing

what to do when i

walk through windows

a gecko

tonight, singing

lullabies

day and night

i hop from cloud

to cloud

forgetting the

world around me

silence . . .

a field of toads

without words

it took you

a while to cool off . . .

this morning,

a glimpse of you

washing our new car

look, a

christmas tree made

in china!

how can i

sleep tonight knowing

my words cut

you into pieces in

front your co-workers

swathing me

with lavender oil. . .

bamboo song

you stepped

out of my words into

a caption

standing on its head

above my heart

robert d. wilson

©2009