Christmas Monologue
Will you come back this Christmas?
When the December sun pulls together through the alley
the bamboo bank swings and
calls to the wind
swallows call the flock to the
spring ball...
I'm still looking forward to this
Christmas
the day is still long...still a lonely
garden.
The girl from the past is no
longer a baby
Why does the rose flower quickly fade?
My heart will be close to each
other
like flowers and butterflies on a
busy spring day
Christmas is here...why are you
so far away
in the middle of Christmas, my heart suddenly ached
Nguyen Thanh Hai
(Vietnam)
Voyages
It all began on a sea-voyage to Egypt during my teenage,
where I fell in love with the Pharaohs and their ancient heritage,
with the eye of Ra and the ankh which their deities held,
with the pyramids,
that I even contemplated becoming an Egyptologist.
Next came a flight to Algeria where most people only spoke French.
My inability to communicate made me appreciate lingual skills,
thus an enhancement of the language brought me translation thrills
of Les Fleurs du Mal and other Baudelairean gems.
My own odyssey to Melbourne and Sydney was fraught with hardships.
I thought the status of an immigrant was nigh to that of an explorer like James Cook,
so in the valley of humiliation I learned what it is to be caught
in the labyrinth of employment agencies and social benefits.
My journey through Caledonia was the most inspiring of all.
I became enamored with kilts, with tartans, with the bagpipe’s call,
with the Sun-Cross that dangled from my left-ear’s lobe,
with the Celtic twilight that permeated my academic work.
Middle Age
He dwelt on his receding hair,
the sluggish pace of a healing wound.
He monitored each wrinkle on his face,
camouflaged the fast-greying phase
with a reddish beard
and a trendy, golf headpiece.
We argued about our difference in age
to no avail,
and though my visage had borne no trace
of corrosive time
or the passage of numerous days,
I assured him that my heart was a sage
with the blows of events that do not discriminate
between the infant and the far advanced in years.
I sat and pondered over my ill-chosen mate.
I though maturity would come with the lapse of decades,
but that was not the case,
for our love began to crumble with every physiognomic change,
and from his facial topography of my fate,
I knew the dissolution of our bond was a matter of weeks.
Confidantes
My first confidante was a school classmate,
who also resided down our street.
Our golden hours were when we sat beneath
their huge Christmas, pine tree,
and in the glow of tinsel, bells, and crimson beads,
we poured into each other’s ears
our life-long dreams.
She wanted a glamorous husband.
I desired something more unique
that would take me somewhere beyond the ordinary.
My second confidante was a fellow flat-mate,
who was nearing completion of a postgraduate degree.
She intimated her wish to marry her current date
simply because she dreaded becoming an old maid.
I told her the idea had never crossed my mind
although I was her senior by five years.
I was only planning a future career
after the completion of my Ph.D.
My third confidante was my first intimate relationship,
a man whose date of birth preceded mine by two decades.
I confided in him my inability to love again
for monogamy was my inherent trait.
He said seeing other women would not alter his esteem for me.
I disagreed
and left him wallowing in his own creed
of genteel promiscuity.
Web
Extraterrestrial spider,
Invisible; they say...
Spins a web of deception,
That is growing every day.
Possessing insatiable hunger,
A master of deceit,
Its web a snare for humans,
Who become a prey at its feet.
The web is becoming stronger,
Tightening every day,
And the spider is wiser than humans,
Determined to have its way.
first published in UFO Gigolo
The Scourge
We all can see that
It is here...
We can run,
Or hide,
Or just choose
Not to see...
We can join,
Or fight,
Or watch...
And understand.
There is no place
To run to,
There is no place
To hide.
What you choose
Not to see
Will find you,
Even if you
Are blind.
And when you face
What you are blind to,
It will not be kind.
Circle
The lesser stars have yielded,
Another Sun is near,
But every star that fled the sky
Will surely reappear.
The darkness nearly ended,
Dawn will bring the light,
The daystar will appear,
Banishing the night.
The part in all
of us We Share
Well Being
Sets Foot on Every
Beach on a
Warm Breezy Day
I'm being an Idealist.
I'll Back down
When You're Back up,
and that's a Condescending
Style I know.
You Know Better
the Greatest Joy
than I could ever find
for You
The presence of LOVE
is , You You You Are .
I studder for good
Reason
It Bears Repeating
Sit Here and I promise
not to look at your shell.
The guarded Soul
makes its own
And your presence has
my Heart
on a Rock slain
Before and after the time
of Danger But no precision
can threaten my
Eternity
For size and mass are
Part & Parcel to the canvas
that, "What's it called?",
always Rises the caller to
Bring more Fresh Ideas.
What You Like
is Already
known
Faster than time to
Savor the
passing Brush.
By John Edward Culp
All Rights Reserved
first drafted on December 2, 2021
In a Castro Valley CA coffee shop ♡
empty gift
last class before Break
a girl took a scrap
of thick purple paper
trimmed it square,
folded it to a cube,
let fall a teardrop of glue,
snipped a strip of scarlet ribbon
and tied up the tiny box
with a frilly bow
Merry Christmas she said
near twenty-years
of its fading on my bookshelf,
I’ve admired the handiwork –
never tempted to open it
of course
because I watched it made
and know there’s nothing inside
shoelace
one end reaches too far from,
the other too near, the eye – a simple fix,
should be – but these shoes were my father’s
and I find he laced them with a trick
no doubt for better holding
– so I just make one loop too large
one too small
and rush out the door
slower is faster he’d say
trying to show what worked
what lasted
as I pulled away
till his care couldn’t
keep me close
and I became a loose end
out there dangling
tripping up the unwary
and trodden upon in turn
snowman
there he is again
in late moonlight
this early morning –
was he there all night?
when he first showed up
plump and smiling,
overturned basket
a troubadour’s hat,
stick arms raised,
coal eyes glowing –
I didn’t have the heart to tell him
wrong window,
the ice-princess has moved –
and next night there he was
I let the joke go months too far:
his youth spent,
he’s sunk in on himself,
a mere grey heap now,
head a twisted skull,
hat just hanging,
one eye drifted south,
face a fixed grimace,
mouth one long cry,
arms askew
as if he long forgot
what they were reaching for
– oh, to call back the cold season
that left him behind
hermit crab
star by star
the moon steps back
tugging away night’s blanket
wave by wave
he scuttles safe home
like a seabed bat
by sunrise
what does he do all day
hidden like an answer
in the coiled question
of his old snailshell –
sleep and dream? pray and plan?
tend his tender flesh?
while the sun’s giant feet
tromp the sand
and seagulls wheel and jeer
Four PoemsWritten by Chinese Poet Yuan Hongri
Translated by Yuanbing Zhang
The Sea of The Golden Palace
Happiness is the memory of heaven
And the soul is as sweet as the sun.
On the canvas of the death
you daub a smile from the gods.
Oh, that is the light! The light of honey.
If you can hear the heavenly hymns
that is the sea from that golden palace
lapping sapphire over eternal universe.
黄金的宫殿之海
快乐是天堂的记忆
而灵魂是甜美的太阳
在死亡的画布之上
你涂抹诸神的笑容
哦 那是光 光之蜜
如果你听见了天国的乐曲
那是黄金的宫殿之海
在蓝宝石的太空之上
2016.7.30
The Wine of The Soul
I pick up a smiling flower from the future city
To light up your black iron dreams
The new book of the world delivers by the holy lightning
The giant’s body rotates the transparent picture of the faraway stars-cape
The light emanates from the gods
Let you see yourself without any sorrow
The body is high and translucent, each cells are as sweet as the wine of the souls.
灵魂之酒
我摘取一朵未来之城的笑容之花
照亮你的黑铁之梦
天国的闪电送来新的世界之书
巨人的体内旋转透明的星云之图
那来自诸神的光芒
让你看到那个不知忧愁的自己
身体巨大透明 每一颗细胞甜美如灵魂之酒
2015.3.16
The City of The Angel's Smile
The white and silvery words of the moon kingdom
shone in the dream last night
The king of giants
in the massive cities of ancient times
presented me the gem book of the soul
I will build a garden in the desert
fill the jade vase with the holy spring
Let the rivers and lakes shine
a city of the angels' smile
天使的微笑之城
月亮之国的银白词语
在昨夜的梦境闪烁
那位巨人的王
在史前的巨城
赠我宝石的灵魂之书
我将在沙漠上建造花园
用一只玉瓶盛来天国之甘泉
让河流和湖泊映照
一座天使的微笑之城
2016.5.7
The Interstellar Kingdom
Sometimes I see the sky smiling at me
The limpidity spirit and flower clouds
such as the old soul of mine
watch my shadow on the earth
The ground beneath my feet like a colossal ship
toward the Interstellar Kingdom
Those cities where giants dwell
blossom on the dustless Milky Way.
Translator Yuanbing Zhang
Bio:Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet’s Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization.
Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), is Mr. Yuan Hongri’s assistant and translator. He himself is a Chinese poet and translator, and works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District, Jining City, Shandong Province China. He can be contacted through his email, 3112362909@qq.com.
I was seven when Dad died. I didn’t really know him well. He was in the Army and always away on some adventure or other. After a long tour in Afghanistan, he came home for good. I was a shy boy. Dad was built like a barn door. A fraught combination. Not long after coming home he took me to my first football match. The local derby at Anfield.
I remember standing on The Kop in-between his legs, hands like shovels holding my shoulders firmly as the raucous throng swayed and sung. It felt as if the humongous heaving body was going to swallow me. I looked up anxiously, tugging on the bottom of his jacket. He registered the fear in my eyes. I expected him to scoff at my cowardice.
Instead, he grinned. ‘C’mon lad, climb up here.’
He swung me up onto his wide shoulders. Cupping my hands under his chin, I could feel the scratchy stubble on his jaw, the beat of the pulse in his neck and the weight of those giant hands holding my skinny knees. Behind us, someone threw a plastic cup full of urine across the crowd. The golden liquid arced through the air, dispersing into a drizzle of dozens of drops that showered the unsuspecting audience below.
A chant from the crowd spontaneously rose, ‘You dirty bastards.’
Dad looked up at me. I could see droplets marking a trail down his temple. We both started to laugh. We laughed and laughed, tears mingling with the precipitation present.
The next morning Dad was found dead in the front seat of our Toyota Rav4. He had chosen to leave me by hooking up a hose to the exhaust. The doctor said it was Post Traumatic Stress. Mum said he was a selfish sod. I didn’t believe that because he had taped a note to the garage door.
DO NOT ENTER. CALL POLICE.
Now, when I think of him, I mostly just remember sitting on his mighty shoulders, both of us laughing hysterically, his life blood pulsing under my fingertips. It was a moment of ecstasy, and it tasted of piss.
