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Monday, February 13, 2017

New poem by George Held

Acid Peace

On the slope of Mount Wai‘ale‘ale,
World’s wettest spot,
Kamalu passes out the blue caps

While we covet the last tokes
On our blunts, and rain
From Kauaian skies

Tattoos the tin roof
Of that folk star’s warm house
Well after midnight.

Swallowing the cap,
I look up at the smoke
Wafting to the ceiling

And nestling there
Where I will soon
See the shapes of demons

And then feel the floor
Collapse and let me freefall
Into the earth’s core.

Sensing my panic,
Malia, in purple velvet gown,
Begins to play her guitar

And sing heavenly songs
In no tongue, just her ethereal
Voice and perfect timbre,

And Puana hugs
My shoulder and says in my ear,
“We are all one, Bra’,

“We are all in harmony
With the akua, the gods –
We are all one, Bra,’”

And I look up into the smoke
Swirling on the ceiling
And I see that the world

Is good, and I hear peace
In Malia’s soothing voice
And I feel safe, saved,

Until my flight brings me down
Next day in cold, gray San Francisco,

And I know I have to let drugs go . . .

Sunday, February 12, 2017

"Apology to Lorca" --- poem by Koon Woon

Apologies to Lorca

I am in a city without time
while the three friends ascend the green balustrade
to view from the balcony the changeless sea.

I am in a house without a number
where food & sex are being squeezed out of tubes
and sleep and meals come at unpredictable hours,
as deep beneath the green water
lie, fathoms deep, sunken Greek ships full of
corroding treasures.

Maria hides behind the purple curtains when
the three friends descend the balustrade
talking of white horses with black manes,
comparing the saddle to the mantle piece.

By & by came Lorca himself,
speaking sadly to his friends:
“Mocitoes, if I am able, this house is your house,
and your horse is my horse,
but I am no longer I & my house is no longer my house.”

The three friends bid the old man adios
and vanished in the Andalusian air.
Sadly from Maria's green, green eyes,
silver tears begin to flow
when the moon climbs further with the night.

I am now in a city without name,
as the three friends gallop from the high mountain pass,
headng to the water, where silvery streaks
in the moonlight tell again of sorrows, where on the beach
there is a note in a bottle
with the script of the Chinese Empress no one can read.

Leaving the bottle on the sand,
the three friends gallop now to another city,
another city without time,
as the waves undulant, undulant roll in,
and beneath these fathoms of green, green water,
lie sunken ships with useless corroding treasures.

Koon Woon
January 12, 2017

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Two Poems by Lisa Yoon Les

인연 (원제: 부모님)

파도처럼 넘치는
두 어머니의 새벽 정안수
그에게 넘쳐흘러
폭풍우가 되고

어느 두메산골
툇마루 절간
반야의 수행길이
개벽처럼 열린다.

칠흑의 어두운
고요와 고뇌의 돌계단
저 멀리 반딧불처럼
반짝이는 백호의 눈빛
그의 길 위에 출렁이고

어머니의 손에 이끌려
처음처럼 수줍은 아낙
아뇩다라 그의 눈빛과
인연으로 설레라.

Meant to be
Two mothers pray at dawn
before the divine freshly drawn water
Soon exploded like a surging wave
and became a thunderstorm.

At a toenmaru
of a Buddhist temple,
He practices the Heart Sutra
as the world begins.

The stone steps with the
pitch-dark of the silence and agony
On his way, gazing the gleaming eyes
of the white tiger for guidance far away.

A girl with her mother standing
with a shy smile like the first time
Their eyes, fluttering hearts met in the air
the universe quotes "It was meant to be"

About the poem인연(Meant to be): This poem is originally written in Korean and was awarded in a poetry contest. The poem describes the poet's parents who first met each other at a temple on the mountain.

클러치를 든 그녀
내 곁을 스쳐가네
클러치를 든 그녀
코끝을 간지럽히는
그녀의 가을 꽃 향기

노트북에 탑재된 채
그녀의 지성이 되어 주던
기호, 코드, 빅데이터
아차! 백팩에서 사라졌네. 

중력으로 늘어진 백팩
그 안에 유영하던 화려한 물고기
그녀의 심장에 닿기 위해
오늘도 몇 시간을 헤엄치다
아차! 그녀의 머릿속만 훔쳤네.

Girl who carries a clutch

The girl who carries a clutch
is just passing me by
Her fragrance of autumn sweetness
soothing my slight pain.

The codes, signs and big data
packed and alive in her backpack
Ready to be her intelligence, but
O heavens! They are all gone.

Gravity matters droopy backpack
The fish swimming in it elegantly
Thou trying to reach out her heart
O heavens! only stole her brain.

About the poem클러치를 든 그녀(Girl who carries a clutch): This poem is originally written in Korean and was translated into the English language later by the poet herself. The poem describes a girl who used to carry a backpack with a laptop which had a large amount of information. Now she carries a clutch which means she remembers most of the knowledge in her brain but not in her heart yet as she had dreamt.

Monday, February 6, 2017

New poems by Julie Dickson

I Exist

I exist because I was born

into a world I knew nothing of

to parents previously forlorn,

untrained at expressing love.

In my attempt to please, to know,

evolving into compliance -

adapted behavior long ago

existing on self-reliance.

Nestled safely in protective shell,

I rarely braved the outside world –

a bit of a loner, but just as well,

inside my cocoon, I was curled

until unlocked I slowly emerged

into a fully-lit room, I stepped

on shaky ground, although I was urged

to express myself, was clearly inept.

With infantile steps I progressed,

a new student of the world at best.

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH


Tide Bracelets

Three piers straight as planted corn

in rows with water line striped pilings -

no crusty barnacles are left behind,

just dark circles like bracelets, wide

or narrow; they will be covered

as the waters rise, sloshing against

the rocks and creosote coated pilings

until only the dock surfaces remain.

The decking weathered and spotted

with remnants of fish guts and more,

the “white-washed” reminder of gulls

and cormorants as they stand in the breeze,

spreading their faux-eagle wings to dry.

Below the surface, barely visible posts

now dark, underwater sentries with

silent sea turtles and bottom feeders

hiding in shadows between pilings,

biding their time until the turn -

when the tide bracelets reappear.

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH

The Price

Waking alone

on this day here at home

is something that's tough to bear.

In all the years gone

strive to carry on,

at times I cannot share

this path I carved out

even though I had doubt

once my decision was made;

I followed on my own,

the road I was shown,

despite the high price that I paid.

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH

4 Seasons Haiku


Worms fear early birds

Tree buds emerge silently

Mother Nature wakes


Sunlight permeates

Cicadas echo in song

Snake basks in the heat


Quiet garden walk

Leaves rustle among the pines

Poetry prevails


White blanket like lace

Ice shimmers on frozen pond

Fish slumber below

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH

Dark Circles

Across the room, her face deep in shadow

even where I stand, dark circles are clear,

her eyes hooded and swollen but I know

that nothing said, no comfort will she hear –

Won’t erase dark circles beneath those eyes,

won’t bring a smile to lips drawn to a pout,

the sorrow born from behind her disguise.

I struggle to discover but without

Any idea, words not forthcoming

until a blaze of yellow cut through air,

a bouquet of daffodils- becoming,

I carry to her, perhaps to declare

And when the smile from her breaks free at last

I sense a brief respite, break from her past.

Julie A. Dickson

Exeter, NH