A paper crane crimped and folded from pieces of tobacco paper I remember Gung Gung rolling and smoking his cigarettes under the bedsheets smelling of Tiger Balm, nicotine, and heartache …
Category:
Poetry
One is a mirror number Reflecting tender eyes Looking to a better future Sailing starry skies Wisdom-worn hands Carved from a lifelong journey What peril I do not see But …
We crouch beneath the mulberry tree, leaves fluttering nervous whispers. The firebirds’ song – a shriek of metal blossoms bursts through the darkened skyline. Mother grips my arm, her voice …
They welcomed us, needed us, celebrated us, worked us to death. We pounded every spike, heaved every log, mined every stone, built them from ground up without complaint. When the …
white men in white stroll through the green and pay no heed to the japanese canadian boys peering through the gaps in the high wire fence clink the ball rolls …
I knew my Lola only from second-hand tales; by the time she had wifi in her village, I was a stranger on facetime. By then, she could not recognize her …
Yann Arthus-Bertrand wants you to know that the earth speaks to you in shapes, colors, and metaphors. The hearts of Voh and Hardy Reef scream, I love you. The caravans …
Sugar ants from sunset bring bad luck reflected in aged mirrors; troubles echoed in hoarse bells inside whitewashed temple domes; debts that inhabit the marrow of history; hunger that live …
The artist reads a book. The book provides an idea. The idea, entrapment, leads to a framework, a framework of thinking. Are we trapped in our own bodies, which we …
a d a . A d a . A D A in the flash of your too brief shining ……….we hardly knew you having rarely stepped out into spotlight ……….you …