Blood Of My Ancestors

Wanderer's blood coursed through my ancestors' veins, Boiling under wind-stretched sails off Africa’s coast, Thousands of miles from their European homes. Their blood stirred at the vast mysteries before them, Legends and rumors of the dark continent, devourer of men, Pulsating through their thoughts As they stepped onto the red soil for the first time. Their …

Injustice

Justice is the lifeblood of society. It runs and fights And bleeds through my veins. Justice is the highest calling of good men. A man who cares not for justice is not a man but a beast. I am also for truth. I distrust the justice of this world I'm skeptical of anything people tell …

I Might Wait In Vain

I wait for a woman Who has the heart of Li Qing Zhao. Do I wait in vain? A woman who sits upon the mountain Just to watch the cherry blossoms bloom, A woman who finds the greatest pleasure in life, Drinking wine and drinking poetry Hours into the night.

I Have a Blue Blanket

I have a blue blanket I remember it from my childhood, It goes with me in a bag In the trunk of my car And whenever I cant take The shit of this world I lay it down In the park Or on the river bank Or in the field at night After a wedding …

A Nomadic History

The dog stands noblest on his rock Looking out on the public park As though it were his. He cannot remain still, The woods and water Call out to his blood. An ancient nomadic history runs in his veins. I watch, with slight envy, And lament the wildness Which has long since died in me …

Untitled poem by Marichiko

Nothing in the world is worth One sixteenth part of the love Which sets free our hearts. Just as the morning star in The dark before dawn Lights up the world with its ray, So love shines in our hearts and Fills us with glory. -Marichiko A Drawing of How I Imagine Her

The Old Poets of China – Mary Oliver

Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it. Now I understand why the old poets of China went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist. -Mary Oliver