To An Old Trucker

The trucker has a lot of time to think

Driving from coast-to-cost in his rig,

He's hungry and really needs a drink,

But distance to be travelled is yet too big...

So he dreams of gals he could have had,

And fancier Peterbuilts he coulda rode,

Dredges up memories, more happy than sad,

Recalls adventures, more good than bad,

Sometimes sheds a tear on a moonlight road,

But won't stop on rolling, to deliver the load,

He keeps on trucking, to pass on the load.

(Dedicated to GMH)

http://ofratsandmen.blogspot.com/2010/08/rolling-down-to-dallas-these-wheels.html

Short Ones For The End Of Summer 2010

The sudden rain causes

An unexpected intimacy --

Sharing an umbrella.

Cool fall showers,

After a long heat spell,

Quench, but can't heal.

Jogging under trees,

Sweet evergreen scent

Makes me forget the pain.

In the park at night,

Benches facing the sea,

Couples quietly fondling.

Western Pacific Geopolitics

To the Chinese,

Europeans were considered

Dangerous & barbaric.

To the Japanese,

Europeans were considered

Curiousities and exotic.

To the Europeans,

Asians were considered

Backward and despotic.

Then there's Hey Diddle-Diddle

Okinawa & The Ryukyus

Caught in the middle...

Mix this all together,

And what do you get?

An intractible mess

Which we haven't solved yet...

The Art Of Conversation

Animated chatter at the Embassy event

Words exchanged: Political, empty, arty,

Sometimes cleavage predominates,

Subliminal messages sent...

A typical cocktail party.

If asked, I would guess that

The gentle art of coversation

Has ancient roots, as old as the fire

Which warmed the hunter's narration,

Poking the embers, chewing the fat,

Our ancestors in furry attire

Finding ways to categorize

The grunts and feral exclamations

To match the passion in their eyes

To recall the fear, blood, and grit,

Which put that night's meat on the spit.

So, on and on the jawing went,

Sqatting and describing animal kills,

Until someone evolved to be eloquent,

Acquring the requisite verbal skills,

To be used & displayed at the Embassy event.

Food Wars

In the endless battle over dietary sins,

It's usually the stomach that wins,

The cases that brain and conscience make,

Fall flat in the face of chocolate cake...

Bilateral Cooperation

Important senior officials
From Washington D.C.,
Fly thousands of miles,
To drink green tea,
Review important files,
And make proposals using
Their negotiating wiles,
With Japanese senior officials
Who say "No" with smiles...

A Hard-To-Get-Up Morning

Horizontal, paralyzed

In a twilight headache haze,

Faintly receiving a message sent

From the brain behind my eyes...

Time to challenge this day of days,

But my get-up-and-go

Just got-up-and-went,

And what's left, inertly lies,

Potential not kinetic,

As Newton's Law applies.

While Doing A Household Chore

Folding her work clothes

I pause, touching the tag,

Still affixed, showing her name...

There's more in the laundry bag,

But I can't go on, just the same,

Because I choke-up,

Something inside me quavering,

When I look at the stains

On the shirt collar,

And think of her laboring

Sweat, stresses, and pains,

All at 8 minutes per dollar...

Atmospheric Disturbance

The typhoon passed

South of us today,

And vortex-pushed away

The hot high pressure air,

Then sucked in the cool

From up north somewhere...

Gone are the summer's

Heat alerts,

And sweaty shirts...

The Hunters

The hunters lie purring, at rest…

Warm balls of fur, on lap or chair

The family room, their lair…

The one named Margaret was the best

A country cat with special skills

She always made a point to talk

To the people in the house,

Then go into a backyard stalk,

Returning later with rabbit kills,

Or un-quick bird, unlucky mouse…

Afterwards, licking her paws,

A cat-yawn stretching her jaws,

Contented, she dozes and dreams

Of places to hide and feline schemes

For getting food, and back strokes

Given by the human folks

Margaret always touching, asking

With her sing-song cat-voice

“Where’s my food?”, “Let me out,

You have no choice...”

“I must obey my hunter tasking.”

Later, on sun-lit spot she basks,

Looking so peaceful as she lies

Old Margaret the cat, gentle and relaxed…

But look closer and you see and realize

The hunter’s gleam remains in her eyes.

Kashiwa-gi-da

Uptown, Yokosuka...

Unusual, a wide street, straight

Among the curved and narrow lanes,

It's now so quiet, somewhat sedate,

Showing few signs of

What it was before...

A neon painted place of joy and sin,

In the years right after the war...

I pause and listen for the ghosts:

Shore Patrol sirens, and riffs

Of jazz, the chatter of touts,

And bar-girl tiffs...

The street, built different,

Absorbed the thrust,

Of carnal appetites & energies,

Pouring beer, sating the lust,

Of an occupying army, now gone away,

As are the bars, returned to dust...

But the street remains, an empty site,

Where a circus once performed,

And the memories aren't quite

Remembered, in the modern morning's light.

The Gentle-Fierce Ones Who Lead

There should be a sign:

"Beware All Ye Who Enter"

Posted on the doors,

Of the shopping center.

Here, too many husbands

Waste much of their lives,

Bored into oblivion,

Trailing their wives...

The Gatherers have prevailed,

The Hunters cowed and tame,

Testosterone's shame,

They wander like zombies,

Thinking of the football game...

Long Talk In The Park

A man an a woman

Stand in the park,

Talking for the longest time,

Well after dark,

Intensely, as only lovers can,

Mutely screaming, accusing,

But hoping they aren't losing

The special thing

Which brought them together...

An act of their choosing,

A decision made with feeling,

Long ago, in a different weather...

But now it hurts too deep,

In the dark in the park,

Way beyond healing,

They part, to go home, but not to sleep.

Ode To Subway

God bless the Spaniards

And their wonderful hams,

The English,

Their jellies and jams,

Bow down if you please,

To the Dutch and their cheese,

3 Cheers for Italy's salami,

And whoever invented pastrami,

Hail Earl of Sandwich,

Long since dead,

Who first put these things

Between slices of bread.

Riding The Ship Of State

Politicians pontificate,

And fight for the wheel,

On the bridge of a ship

With a broken keel...

They strive but don't think

All blind to the fate

That the ship will only sink,

Despite their will to navigate.

September Sound

Dusk dissolving into sultry evening,

Autumn's slow beginning,

Bell crickets singing...

ElzoHarm Art (No. 14)

Monkey man and his macaw

Remember everything they saw

In the jungle, deep and green

Acts of joy and things obscene,

Played-out between the men

Clad in steel, looking for gold,

And forest tribes, from times when

The trees were not so old...

The strangers came from afar,

Guided by moon and star,

Seeking distant truth,

The fountain of youth...?

Only to get tangled and stuck,

In vine-traps and tropic muck,

Left screaming, and bereft of luck...

They started to rust, and lose direction,

Succumbing to madness & infection,

Losing their spirits and getting much thinner,

Looking at each other as dinner.

The few left alive, got down on their knees,

And prayed for a way to return to the seas,

Then the naked ones came and showed them the way,

To the river, which flowed down to the bay,

So, they made some rafts and floated away,

Never to return, even until this day.

Upon Hearing "Things We Said Today"

Youthful simple & happiness,

Has it been gone that long?

Brought back by the notes

Of a Beatles song.

Change Of Command In Yokosuka Harbor

Sitting on a box of 50-calibre ammunition,

Admiring a Japanese sunset which glows

On a ceremony, full of Naval tradition...

The seagulls land on the water nearby,

Making cat noises, unlike the crows

Black, bomber-like, cutting across the sky...

It's a restful moment on a ship whose mission,

If necessary, is to destroy and make things die...

But there's nothing kinetic about right now,

Where, in waning light, ends a ceremony to greet,

And officially confer,

A new commander to the fleet,

Who shoulders his fate, looking beyond the bow,

To lead his awful-deadly ships, strong & sure,

Not necessarily to fight, but first to deter.

Chain of command unbroken,

Warships and crews will continue

To work night and day,

Allowing millions to rest unwoken,

Maintaining the peace, for a sailor's pay...

The War Of A Red Neck Pastor In Florida

Burning Holy Books,

Is not as easy as it looks.

What is even worse,

It may bring upon your head,

A long and painful curse,

Which lasts until you're dead.

Burning Holy Books,

Will publicize your name,

Draw lots of cameras and looks,

But leads only to dust and shame.

A radical red-neck preacher

Stands-tall for all to see

Destroying the words of a different teacher

And by doing so, unwittingly

Joins the ranks of the those

Radicals, we all so strongly oppose.

Thoughts After Hell Week

Busy times, the week flew by,

Saturday morning, I

Catch my breath, trying

To remember: where, when, and why,

Sitting back, healing, sighing...

I wonder if the time invested

Is deposited in a bank-like place,

Where it's measured and weighed

Methodically, case-by-case,

And after I'm re-charged and rested,

The interest returns are paid,

Then gathered and compounded

Into a supplement, untested

But ready for use, to face an unbounded

Future, which has yet to be made.

One Day

I know that billions of stories were made

Or enacted or told today... so many

So varied, innumerable dramas played

Out in front of audiences, without any

Rehearsal or script or accolade...

Birth and death, in an endless trade,

Cycling, repeating, in every nation

In 24 hours of Earthly rotation,

Songs & screams, a blood vibration,

A complex human reverberation...

And the blur and beat of billions of hearts,

Will continue to buzz, as a new day starts.

Hot, Early September

Restless, unable to stay still,

Winds swirling and humming...

Typhoon coming.

A lone cicada cries,

The others gone,

Before it dies.

The quest to stay cool

In the summer's heat,

Isn't helped by the fact

We are made of meat.

Groucho Marx Senryu

Those are my principles,

And if you don't like them...

Well I have others.

I'm not crazy about reality,

But it's still the only place

To get a decent meal.

Only one man in a thousand,

Is a leader of men --

The other 999 follow women.

Marriage is a wonderful institution,

But who wants to live

In an institution?

If a black cat crosses your path,

It signifies that

The animal is going somewhere.

Suzu-mushi (Bell Crickets)

I like to work with words... But sometimes it's a real challenge to find the right ones to describe something as simple, soothing, and beautiful as the late-summer evening songs of the "Suzu-Mushi" (Bell Crickets). Here in Japan, Suzu-Mushi become active towards the end of summer and continue into the early autumn -- They make a cricket-like sound, but it's milder, and smoother, like: "cheep-cheep-cheep ... or ... ling-ling-ling" -- Thousands of little insects making soft-ringing, tiny-bell-like sounds --- Suzu-mushi sing and vibrate in the September nights, which slowly get cooler as the Equinox approaches.

Suzu-Mushi 　=　鈴虫

3-Legged Cat

Out on a walk in the morning,
A cat appears, as cats tend to do,
Quietly, without much warning...
A hunter, with a hind-leg missing,
Inscrutable, no yowl, no hissing,
Then, glares at me like: "Who are you!"
I try to make a face to say:
"Don't mind me, just passing through"
The cat replies: "O.K., I let you by"
Then curls-around to head away,
With a 3-legged feline sway...
And I am left to wonder why,
The cat let me go, that day.

ElzoHarm Art (No. 13)

I stop, in surprise...
Forget what I was thinking,
Blood pressure starts to rise,
Scanned by those unblinking
Green-Medusa eyes.

She's of the verdant hills,
Where the magic mists arise
To paint ghosts in the skies,
And ancient art distills
The mystery which fills
Those Green-Medusa eyes.

What doesn't quickly kill you,
Makes you stronger, it is said,
But the woman simply looks right through
To find a room inside your head,
And try as you might, you can't undo
Her leafy spell, her spider thread...

So, final surrender is no surprise,
To hungry Green-Medusa eyes.

Sayonara, 2 September

2 September, of 2-thousand ten
Is headed into its final hours
Never to pass this way again...

Did I stop to smell the flowers?

What was "to be", is now "has been",
Time moves, immune to human powers,
To the tune of a lullaby, unheard by men,
Not asking why, not telling when...

And I cannot stop what it devours.

Work Day Haiku

Tired, moving slow in the morning,
Like water splashed on face, it wakes me,
The smell of strong coffee...

Up and at-'em, face the new day,
March out, freshly showered,
Deodorized arm-pits...

Few better feelings than escaping the heat
Into an ice-cool room & start evaporation
Of full-body sweat precipitation.

Ruled By Estrogen

It's a truth, but a bit of a mystery,
That amidst all the man-made pain and strife,
Since the dawn of time and prehistory,
Women have maintained the power of life...
And as I deal with my daughters and lovely wife,
It's a fact which is never missed to me.